Reign of Phyre

by Nicholas Cooper

  There would be some Khasari with bows, but they’d be reluctant in opening up their shields to fire. Time was on their side, and the longer it took the Khasari to realise they needed to charge or run, the more losses they would sustain. Yes, they could run, but their backs would then be turned and Arys’ men would make sure they paid the price.

  He heard a horse trot up from behind. He whirred around and saw his princess dismount, dressed in her own resplendent armour. Blackened leather suited her. Her face was also painted for battle, and given the red spots sprayed on top, she had already seen some.

  “You want them to charge us, captain?”

  “If we charge into them, we’ll take heavy casualties. If they charge, we can take advantage of their flanks. We have archers in these buildings. We can pick them off while we hold.”

  She nodded in approval. “Solid plan.” She took a bow from one of his men. “Right then, let’s prod the bear.”

  “Princess, it’s dangerous here. We can’t risk you – ”

  “Don’t you dare give me that,” she said with the bite of winter, “I’m a Legatus and this is war. If you have a problem with hierarchy then leave the field now. If I can’t fight and bleed for my people, then what am I?”

  He lowered his head. He felt shame. She was right. “I’m sorry, Legatus Vaelynna.”

  “Make up for it by killing many.” She notched an arrow and fired it into the mass of Khasari. “Come on then, face your enemy! Come greet death with a smile!” She walked forwards, notching another. And another. A few bodies fell from the mass.

  The archers were in position and began firing too. The Khasari raised their shields as best as they could, flawlessly executing the manouevre, but the arrows were coming from too many angles, and their shields were not large enough to provide adequate cover. They were losing men, and Arys knew that they would have to either charge or break soon. True enough, they charged for the line, knowing that if they could break the line, they could make for the woods if the Sons didn’t rout first.

  “Hold the line! Brace yourselves!” he shouted. As the mass of men lurched forward, the fifty men that had made it around to the rear began their advance. The two sides engaged each other, with neither side giving ground. This suited Arys perfectly, for his enemy were fighting against time. The Khasari were fiercer than he had imagined, and even some of the Lepcians were losing and being cut down. The line might not have held, but the arrows continued from above, and their number started to dwindle. The fifty men reached their rear, and the Khasari had lost.

  As the last Khasari was cut down and the town was secured, the Sons rejoiced, cheering in victory. “Euphyre! Euphyre!”

  Despite being nearly too late, they had beaten the Khasari in a pitched battle, though Arys knew it would have been a massacre had the Yalean Elsgard rider not alerted them to the Khasari force marching from Rulven. He would need to meet them later, but for now, he needed to take care of his men. There were wounded.

  The Sons, being no strangers to skirmishes for control of towns, knew exactly what to do. The taverns became infirmaries, where healers were sent to tend to the wounded. Arys himself was no healer, so he resolved to help by carrying those who could not walk to where they needed to go. He was amazed at how seamless the process was.

  He recognised two soldiers being assisted into a large tavern by two Vinrael recruits as the two that had run towards him earlier. The one with the gash to his leg had either already died or was unconscious from the loss of blood. Arys ran over to them and helped carry him inside. There were already dozens of wounded spread out on the floor, with town maids running between carrying fresh towels, water, and any medicine the inns had stored.

  He found a vacant place on the floor and gently placed the man down. He hadn’t noticed earlier during the battle, but he had no tattoos, and his arm was…well he didn’t look like a combatant. It didn’t matter right now, and it probably wouldn’t matter in a few minutes in his condition.

  Vaelynna at some point entered the room, for he saw her tending to one of the wounded. The man’s suffering seemed to have already eased by having his princess personally see to him. She noticed Arys looking at her and signalled for him to come over.

  “Put pressure on him here while I find a bandage,” she said, pointing to his stomach. As she stood up, she lowered her voice as she turned away from the man. “Keep him calm, keep his mind off it. He’s not going to make it, but you can ease his suffering.”

  He looked at the man. He had been fatally wounded in his abdomen where a dark pool of blood had stained his shirt. He tried to look at it but Arys stopped him.

  “You did a noble thing for Euphyria today. The princess must be proud of you.”

  “Captain Arys, I’m scared.”

  “Enough. You’ll be fine. You’ll make it. I want you to close your eyes. Think of home. You have a family?”

  “Yes sir, a wife in Lyreport, sir.”

  “I’ve never been there. I’ve heard it has a lovely bay. What’s it like?”

  The old soldier held back the fear causing his tremors as best he could. “It’s b-beautiful. The s-s-sea is the s-same colour as her eyes. Our house is near the river. I used to catch fish for her when the tide was going out…Our daughter…she…”

  “…will know her father was a hero.” He finished the sentence as he closed the soldier’s eyes. He knelt and ran his hand over his face. His own hand was shaking. No amount of drills or training taught you how to hold and cradle death in your arms. Hopefully, hopefully, the man’s actions had saved his family’s lives or at least bought them some time. He had sent outriders to warn the towns of the Khasari advance.

  Suddenly the door swung open and a man in a black robe burst inside. He immediately located Vaelynna who was tending to another of their injured. He looked over the injured and pointed to the one that Arys had brought in earlier.

  “Your Highness, do not let that one die.”

  Arys stood up. “Excuse me, we’re doing the best we can here to prevent anyone from dying. Who are you to give orders to Princess Vaelynna?” How did he know the Princess? Who was he? Why hadn’t Arys heard about him? He calmed himself. You forget your place. He wasn’t her promised, he wasn’t a prince. He was the one who was promised to someone else, anyway. Guard yourself, fool.

  “I don’t have time for this. I need to find someone. You’re a captain I presume. Do not let that man die. Your fate is the same as his.”

  Then he turned and ran back outside. Arys started, “Who do you th-”

  “It’s okay, Arys,” said the soothing voice of the Princess, “I know him well. Kind of. Do as he says. Help me with that man. Carry him upstairs to a room and don’t let anyone else in. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” He would have time for answers later. He picked up the badly injured man and carried him upstairs to a vacant room. He put him down gently and offered a prayer, that Yelia look after him. Having one soldier die in his arms was enough for one day.

  Princess Vaelynna walked through the door carrying a bunch of cloth, flasks and her sceptre. “Thank you, Arys. Please, I have a favour to ask of you, though you must be tired.”

  “Anything, Your Highness.”

  She smiled. “You’re a good man. I need you to stand vigil outside the door tonight. Don’t let anyone in, regardless of who they are. I need all my concentration and I will only leave when I have finished. Don’t let anyone disturb me. You know the saying, hell hath no fury etcetera etcetera.”

  She knew how to manipulate him. Except, what she didn’t know was he knew, and it it didn’t matter. She was his Princess regardless, and he would still obey even if she wasn’t nearly half as beautiful as she was, or he half as infatuated. He closed his eyes for a second and saw an angry Sharya in his mind, keen to remind him where his loyalties truly lay.

  “Understood, Your Highness.” He closed the door behind him and took up his post. The door was slightly crooked. It was going
to be a long night.

  -------------------------------------

  There is more to the dead than the living will ever know – Artataras Rhasphyre

  Kiern

  The last one nearly had him. He had been knocked off balance and just about had a spear in his guts when the horde of screams momentarily distracted the Khasari who had flattened him to the ground. It was enough time for Kiern to swipe his legs and knock the man over where it became a desperate struggle of two clamouring bodies fighting for the right to live. Kiern managed to roll to his side and poke the Khasari in the eyes, and while he screamed out in pain clawing at them, Kiern grabbed the man’s spear and wedged it in his neck.

  If there were another Khasari coming, he wouldn’t have been able to fight them. He wiped the blood off his face and nearly fell over as his leg gave way. He steadied and hid in the closest building to him. He waited until he could determine where the shouting had come from and if the danger had passed. It was all quiet around him, until he heard shouts of victory. Whose victory? He waited.

  “Euphyre!”

  Thank Yelia. He was starting to feel dizzy. Which way was the Oaken Vine? He hobbled along in his chosen direction, hoping that when he fell it would be a friendly face and not a Khasari that would find him.

  “Kiern!” came a familiar voice. He turned in the direction and saw a black robed man running towards him. He smiled softly as he fell forwards, into the man’s arms.

  “Get up. There’s no time for this. Rhen has been seriously injured. He’s at the Oaken Vine with the Euparyen Princess. You need to be tended too as well by the looks of you. Come on, walk.”

  He was sympathetic to a Karzarki who had tried to kill them yet couldn’t extend a helping shoulder to an infirmary. Commander Reisch was all about tough love. Kiern loved him and hated him for it.

  Limping along, his vision blurred and darkened. It took all of the remainder of his concentration to stay conscious. Someone else soon came to his side to assist.

  “Kiern, are you alright? Stay awake, don’t give in to the darkness.”

  It was…Bairn? Hadn’t he…gone? There was blood splattered over his cloak, but Kiern knew it didn’t belong to him.

  When he opened the door, he was greeted with a mass of injured bodies in various states of severity, but he did not see Rhen or the famed Princess that he had been intent on laying eyes on. Reisch was first to see the body lying on the floor.

  “Find peace, Volkyr, and let Yelia not judge you harshly.” He closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. So did Kiern.

  “Rhen is upstairs. Bairn, you’ve done all you can here. Return to your mission,” said Reisch to both of them. Bairn nodded, and just like that, he had left as quickly as he had come. Kiern started towards the wooden spiral staircase when Reisch added, “You won’t be allowed to see him.”

  He ignored him and climbed regardless. There were many rooms on the second floor, but only one had the air of importance with a guard standing at its door. He hobbled over in that direction. He was a tall man in a muddied, heavy set of armour that Kiern had not seen, but only heard about. It was armour that could have only been made in a Euparyen forge of old. And for all its glory, it did not matter to Kiern in the slightest right now.

  “Rhen’s in there isn’t he? Let me see him. I need to know he’s okay.” The guard raised his hand, telling Kiern not to move closer.

  “I don’t know who Rhen is. But if it’s him in there, you will see him when the Princess is finished with him. No one is to enter until she is done. That is her imperial order. Now go to your vantha.” He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, attempting to appear more intimidating. Kiern wasn’t buying it.

  “Just what do you mean I will see him when the Princess is finished with him?” That sounded ominous. The guard stared at him for a moment, narrowing his eyes, sizing him up, before relaxing his shoulders.

  “Go downstairs, friend. No one is entering this room. I’ve made my position clear.” He took his hand off the hilt and continued. “You look as though you could do with some bandages. Go downstairs and warm yourself up. By the looks of things, you earned it.”

  Kiern saw right through the guard’s attempt at de-escalation. He would have liked the guard to know this, that he wasn’t a Son, but he was in a bad shape and had nearly fainted coming here. He guessed he probably wouldn’t last too long in a fight with a guard in armour like that. The wisest choice would to be the bigger man and let the guard walk away with his pride.

  He walked down the stairs, finding that it was more painful than heading up. He needed the railing as support but was afraid of leaning on it too hard. He looked down and saw the treated soldiers were being taken outside to the other inns around Mayswood. There were enough injured being cared for, and to not let the Oaken Vine become overcrowded, the soldiers were given alternative lodging. Commander Reisch was helping one such soldier out the door. He saw Kiern looking at him and began to walk towards him.

  “Are you hurt?” the Commander asked flatly, as though common courtesy was the only thing making him ask.

  “Of course I bloody am! Look at me!” He arced up, yelling derisively.

  “Are you still bleeding?”

  “I think it’s stopped, but –”

  “Come upstairs. We need to talk.”

  This bloody man was the unforgiving harsh winter of Yalea incarnate. He could have let him seek medical attention. Perhaps help him up the stairs. Maybe even just tell him to have waited upstairs. But of course not.

  He trudged back up the stairs where Commander Reisch overtook him and walked down to a vacant room and entered. The guard seemed to have been acquainted with the Commander, as he made no attempt to warn him about entering, as he had done with himself.

  “Come.”

  There were two beds in the room, a table and chairs, even a small fireplace. It was quite a fanciful tavern and would have brought in a decent amount of coin under usual circumstances. Reisch pulled out a chair for him and told him to sit. He walked over to the door and locked it. Then he took to lighting the fire. Wood and kindle had already been provided, courtesy of the tavern.

  “I don’t know who, but it seems Yelia favours one of us. The fates decreed that we were to die today, yet Yelia sent forth a miracle and saved us.” There was a bottle of wine in a cabinet besides the table. He took two glasses then dragged out his own chair and sat down. He pulled out some bandages and a vial from a pocket. “A few drops of this and then wrap it tight. I know you acted tough, but that wound on your arm is deep. Without proper care that will become infected.” He poured two glasses and slid one over to Kiern.

  “If it weren’t for you, I’d be getting proper care downstairs.” He drank the wine at once. There was no veneer of politeness. The wine tasted heavenly to his parched tongue. He knew it would only make him thirstier, though. He hoped there was some water downstairs.

  “The Sons need all the help they can get. Don’t take one of their spaces and condemn another to die. I can assist you here. I’m not a healer, but I will not let you die. Don’t worry.”

  “And what if I died, because I did not receive treatment downstairs? Is that acceptable? Is my life less valuable than theirs?” he said, wrapping the bandage around his wound.

  “No. You will not die.”

  “So, what is it? What am I to you, exactly? Someone valuable, yet not quite valuable enough to take the space of a stranger?”

  The Commander paused for a second. “You’re the son that I never had.”

  “Oh Yelia, spare me the bullshit,” said Kiern, not wasting a second in consideration. He was prepared to hear many things, but that was not on the list. “That doesn’t at all justify why I’m worth less than a stranger.”

  In their relationship, perspective was critical. From Kiern’s point of view, perhaps it was true that Reisch filled the fatherly role, in that in the absence of a real father, he became the instrument of his education, the guiding compass of h
is morals, and the man who had supported him thus far in life. But this role that Reisch played filled a hole in Kiern’s life, and how well it fit into the hole, well, he’d never know. He’d never know how a father would be different to the role Reisch played in his life. Of course, he was grateful to Reisch, and in some ways Reisch was more to him than what a father could have been. However, when Kiern thought from the Commander’s perspective, Kiern was the youngest of many in the Elsgard, and, until the recent circumstances that had befallen them, he was no one special. For Reisch to claim otherwise…it cheapened the image of what a father should be, if only because it took away imagination and replaced it with a more tangible shape. Perhaps that was why Kiern objected so vehemently.

  He reached for the bottle and poured himself another glass, to which Reisch slid his own empty glass over. “If I’m going to have this talk with you, I will need more wine.” Kiern allowed it, pouring them both a glass.

  “What talk?”

  “Me, you, your father, us. What we are, what we do. Everything.”

  Kiern’s heart stopped momentarily upon hearing that word, overtaking his ear drums. He couldn’t hide what was on his face, but it didn’t matter. “Go on.”

  “The Sins of our Ancestors. What comes to mind?”

  “This again? Ask me several questions and tell me nothing?”

  “Please Kiern, I have a lot to tell you.”

  Kiern was physically exhausted and talking to Reisch was draining his mental fortitude too. He almost preferred fighting another five Khasari than talking to the Commander. “The Youngers, in their naivety, sought power and influence themselves. They turned their backs on their Elders and overthrew them. Yelia, in her despair, tore up the land and divided us all. Until we have truly acquired repentance, we cannot return to Yelia’s embrace, for we shall not have earnt her forgiveness, and the land shall remain divided. You know this. Why do you ask me such a question?”