“A Taer’lyn.”
“A what?”
He took a deep breath and risked delving deep inside for the right word. “A Tyrellian. Now first, tie me up, before I change my mind. Can you wri-argh!” He felt the resistance rise up inside him, fighting with all its strength. No, this was his only chance, he had one last task. He writhed in pain. “Tie me up and send a boy to find the Tyrellian. Now, listen carefully…”
-------------------------------------
Mhiro
The air tasted different today. It was stale with no wind at all. The winter chill did not pierce through his clothes on the wings of a strong breeze, but instead crawled up through his layers, the damp finding its way into his bones. There were plenty of braziers lit throughout the streets to stave off the cold, and many Rulvens huddled around the fires. It wasn’t for the warmth of the fire, however. He had walked by more than one brazier and found that they huddled to warm their hearts, to listen to the preachers of the fire. Euphyria is rising, they said, the Night of the Flame is coming. Word had spread that the Sons of the Phoenix had broken the Khasari force sent to Mayswood and were marching on Rulven. Despite the cold, the Euphyrians’ spirits were radiating through Rulven. They knew what had to be done. They knew that any fight would be hard won and that the Sons would need the support of those behind the walls. Mhiro knew that would mean blood.
He passed the blacksmiths near his shop. Khasari had forced them to close, confiscating their tools to make sure no weapons were being made for a potential uprising. Too late, thought Mhiro. There were caches all around the city.
He closed his stall by early afternoon. He had sold the last of the wine, the last of whatever he had left. It was too dangerous to find a supplier from Karzark with tensions running this high. He would be knifed and left for dead. War was on everyone’s minds, and like dogs in heat, no one was thinking rationally.
He began to walk back home. His purse was not heavy enough to last the winter. He could sell his house but there was no place else for them. His contact had headed south to Braest, choosing to avoid Rulven in light of the rumours that spread down the highways. There’d be no fur to sell.
At the corner of the street near his house, there was a large brazier with a crowd three times the size as the ones he had passed earlier. His bones ached from the cold so he headed towards it to warm up before going home.
“The Phoenix has arisen from the ashes! It will claim what was taken and will rise again! Those of you who have the eagle’s blood, it is your turn to rise, to take back what is yours by right! We will not toil under these serpents any longer! Our time has come!”
Mhiro was taken aback by the boldness of these fire preachers. This was not in the back room of someone’s house or at a private table in a tavern at midnight. Yet, there was not a Khasari in sight. Perhaps it was no longer safe for the regular patrols of two to police Rulven. That made Mhiro shiver more than the cold.
“Hear me well. Paint your doors with your sigil. You shall not go hungry nor unarmed. The Night of the Flame draws close and we must be ready. It burdens my heart knowing that Euphyrian blood will be spilt. Many shall not see the dawn that you will help bring. But for those of you who have families, loved ones, let it be known that they shall be taken care of, that they will know of your honour and valour. I say clearly to you: the Sons of the Phoenix will provide for the families of those who fall in battle and give their life. They will know the blood of heroes runs through their veins. Now, all true sons and daughters of Euphyria, you shall rise from the ashes and take back what is yours! Euphyria! Euphyria!”
His blood was coursing through his body as the crowd returned the chant. Such was their ferocity that Mhiro wondered if they could restrain themselves long enough to wait for the Son’s army to arrive. Rulven was plunging head first into a wild storm.
When he finally opened his door and felt the warmth of the fire that his wife had kept roaring, he walked up to her and hugged her with all his strength, giving her a kiss that seemed to last an eternity.
“The storm approaches. Rulven is not safe. I want you take this bag of coins and head to your sister’s house in Ulane. I have found you a ride with one of my traders who is heading further east. He will be outside shortly. He will take you to Ulane. Take our daughters, you must leave tonight. I will leave in three days and meet you there.”
His wife began to cry. “Come with us, husband. Please, don’t leave us.”
“I promise I will meet you there. I promise. Now, go, there is no time. He leaves tonight.”
After embracing his two daughters and wife for the last time and watching them leave with his old friend, he sat down in his chair by the fire. He stared into the flames for a long time, until they finally turned to embers.
He steeled himself, for there was one thing he needed to do.
The blue paint was frozen by morning.
-------------------------------------
Levi
Farrel’s letter reached me on the 9th day of the first month of winter in the 7th year of Phylax Torren Byr Yelianes. Farrel was wise in choosing Seline and Black Wyke for the Tyrellian’s Pack. Though they clashed at times and had been broken before, they were given an opportunity to mend each other through their new forging of bonds with their leader and newfound purpose. They were my best pupils, but they were also the best of me. Yelia knows my prayers are only to see them safe in Yukone, under the banner of a unified Euphyria. May they outlast the war. May they outlive me and honour me as their late father. In place of Thyrbanes, my friend who departed and met Yelia too soon, I raised them as best as I could.
Janed Relan Aesop, Master-at-Arms
They had set up camp an hour ago after travelling all day at a nice spot where a few small trees grew amongst the rocky outcrop that was the north-west of Yupir. She set to work on the trees, for it was damp and cold, and though making a fire brought risk, it was not an option to go without.
Levi had stared into the flames too long and had lost her night vision. She had been communicating with Ghiris back in Rulven and had failed to realise she had been staring into the flames the whole time. He had told her of an imminent attack on Rulven by the Sons of the Phoenix and several Khasari legions marching around somewhere. This didn’t really interest her, for it mattered not who would fall and who would rise. Besides, there was no new information about Reilek, so instead she had prodded his mind to see if he thought of her. Ghiris, however, had gotten better and managed to block her probing. She let out a mental burst and blew away his defence but did not push further. All she wanted was for him to know that she was in charge.
“Any news?” asked Black Wyke, whose voice came from somewhere in the darkness. Her eyes will still yet to adjust.
“Not on Reilek, no.”
“Then we continue north?” asked Seline.
“Ghiris said the border is at the base of a mountain that has three peaks. I think I’ll be able to see it in a few minutes once I get the fire from my eyes.” She looked at her seared hand. Her skin had healed from the burn she had given it when she seared the connection with Reilek, but it had healed discoloured, much to her disappointment. She put her glove back. Until yesterday she had made no attempt to connect with Reilek, but after trying on a whim to see if the connection still held, she found it did: tenuously.
It had, as it turned out, only been disrupted from one end. She assumed that it had ended because she had not once felt any probing by Reilek into her mind. But after discovering that she could contact him, she knew that she had the upper hand. She could sense that he was weakened, and he did not have the willpower to resist her. She could see images of a small house with a middle-aged couple tending to his wounds. Tolvik, she could hear them say. She had attempted to probe further, but he lost consciousness and the connection was severed.
But Tolvik was enough information to continue. Except…
“Who or what is a Tolvik?” she asked, turning her gaze away from the
flames that she had unwittingly returned to amidst her thoughts.
“I have no idea. Can’t you ask Ghiris?” said Seline, who was burning the end of a stick in the fire.
“He hasn’t heard of it.”
“It’s probably a village,” said Black Wyke, polishing his armour in the firelight, “the city folk wouldn’t know the names or how many there are this far up. The people are descended from refugees who fled the war. The Khasari and the Sons have never bothered policing this region. They come, take what they can, and leave. There’s nothing here of value.”
“Doesn’t really matter anyway, we know where he’s heading. There’s only one way to get to the border, and that’s through the Vieran Pass,” said Seline, who edged closer to the fire, warming her hands.
“I’ve heard of that before. The Elders lost a battle there.”
Black Wyke smiled, polishing his helmet. “Indeed, they did. Though, it wasn’t Euphyre that stood in victory, but Karzark. Euphyre and Yalea met Tarryn Rhasphyre near Tannis. Still, I would rather we caught Reilek before he reaches Vieran Pass. That place is a necropolis that should be left alone.”
Levi laughed. “Brave Black Wyke, who also goes by the name Wyke the Superstitious!”
“Okay, Levi the Fearless, I’m simply saying, the Elders practiced Magick, and mixing Magick with a field of ancient dead soldiers is something that I would like to avoid, if possible. So, let’s catch him before it comes to that.”
Conversing with Black Wyke made her inadequate knowledge of the world come to the forefront of her thoughts and for the first time made her feel ashamed. Tucked away in the far corner of Taer’lyn, no one knew what happened in the east, and no one cared. Knowledge of the outside was a luxury that the harsh environment jealously guarded, demanding peoples’ full attention. When she became a Black Wolf, she only ever needed to know what was necessary for their task. Knowledge, until this point in her life, served the sole purpose of being prepared for the task at hand, be it knowing how to sow a field in the fragile spring, or tracking a target down through a forest. Knowledge, as she had come to realise, could equally be as useful when stored away for a future use.
“What Magick did they use? The Elders, I mean.”
Black Wyke put his helmet gently on the ground, having finished with his nightly routine. “It’s hard to say, really. The historians that wrote of the Elders hated them. That hatred spurred their writing. The remaining accounts that scholars have to work with have dwindled down to three, at least in Euphyre. I imagine some have survived in the other Younger territories. But the scholars of days gone had access to more accounts than we do, so it is difficult to say what is true and what is not. All we can really say for certain is that they indeed used Magick, and there were blood sacrifices to enhance the power of it. The priests say Yelia’s sorrow tore up the land after the Elders were defeated, but I believe the upheaval was a direct cause of the instability their Magick was causing. I think it’s possible, well, the only explanation why the Youngers rebelled in unison. There was a threat to the existence of all Cerenea.”
Levi didn’t really care about the history, but she was curious about the use of Magick. Nartenis had used Magick on her, she was sure of it, and she had to wonder if there was a connection to the Magick of old. Seline cut in before she could ask.
“You’ll have to excuse my brother’s unorthodox and slightly blasphemic tendencies. We all know Yelia brought upon the Cataclysm because of the Harbingers. He needs to be careful in what company he opens that big mouth of his. He risks drawing the ire of Yelia,” she said, glaring at him.
“I don’t believe in The Sin. I believe in The Wrath. However, our differences do not concern me, nor our mission. But I am interested in learning about this Magick that your brother is so afraid of,” said Levi, wanting to change topic before her lack of knowledge reared its head again.
Seline looked ready to engage in a theistical debate, but since Levi knew nothing of The Sin and knew only the basics of The Wrath, she decided not to give her the opportunity to begin.
“How did they use Magick? Was it taught? Was it innate? Does all Magick drain the land like in the days of the Elders? Does it still exist?”
Black Wyke’s face read I am pleased you have taken an interest and allow me to parade my knowledge with this smirk. She’d have to put him in his place later. They would spar in the morning.
“No one knows for sure, but the historians of the day, if the scholars accurately and truthfully recorded them, suggested that Magick manifested in certain bloodlines. It was not so rare to be limited to royalty, but it certainly is implied it was restricted to the elite. Whether it revealed itself in the noble bloodlines or whether those with Magick became the noble bloodlines, we don’t know. As for the danger it presented, I have no idea. But it’s a good thing it died out. We are all safer for it.”
She was going to mention Nartenis, but decided it was best if she kept that to herself for the time being. It would only be a matter of time before others would find out, if they didn’t know already. Ghiris was still only learning how to mentally communicate, but there would come a time where he would sneak past her defences and see what she saw.
Suddenly, an arrow flew through the fire and hit Black Wyke in the chest, knocking him on his back. Without thinking, Levi rolled towards her shield that was sitting upright against a large rock. This was fortunate, for an arrow hit where she was sitting a moment earlier. It had a similar trajectory, and she knew where it came from. They were trained, for they knew the fire had blinded Black Wyke’s night vision. She saw Seline grab her bow and leap behind another rock to notch an arrow.
Levi did not have time to see where Seline was aiming, for she needed to close the distance between where she was and where the arrows had come from. She kept her shield up, feeding her right hand through the brace whilst running in a direct line. One of their horses bolted past her, but there was nothing she could do about it. That problem was only a problem for tomorrow, for the living. Behind her shield she grabbed a throwing axe from her belt and readied herself for a throw. Her eyes began to adjust to the night, and she scoured the surrounding scrub for the enemy. She saw the arrow from the corner of her eye come from the right and managed to tilt her shield just enough to deflect the arrows. She knew if they were trained, they would know a shield on the left would be useless. She threw her axe along the same path the arrow flew and landed on a scream. She ran diagonally to the right, knowing that it was too late for the other Doomed Man to change his position. He would aim for her legs, the only option available to him. She lowered herself accordingly, slowing her pace but knowing that as soon as the arrow came she would be ready to pounce.
As she predicted, the arrow came towards her leg, but her shield covered her whole body. As soon as the arrow landed, the Doomed One stood up and began to flee. However, he only fled as far as her second throwing axe allowed, which was about two feet. She stood over the body and recovered her axe. The Doomed One was still twitching, so she put an end to that with a swing.
She heard Seline screaming and remembered any good ambush required more than one angle. She did not look back towards Seline, not wanting to ruin her night vision by looking at the fire again. Instead, she crept through the bushes, hiding behind rocks, and moved towards where she knew the others would be.
There were two of them. One was aiming at the rock Seline was hiding behind, waiting for her to peer out. The other was slowly moving around, confident that Seline would not see her due to the fire.
When she was close enough, she leapt towards the archer and grabbed him from behind, slicing his throat, smothering his screaming. Unfortunately, he was loud enough in dying that she caught the attention of the woman. She used the man’s body as a shield as best as she could, but the woman was an excellent shot and hit her in the leg. Pain roared through her body and she felt her bloodlust rise. She dropped the body and fighting through the pain, ran towards the Dead Woman. She was not fast en
ough, as she had already notched another arrow. She lifted her arm to throw her axe but knew the arrow would hit first.
She was correct. The arrow hit the Dead Woman in the neck before she could fire at Levi.
She knew that was the last of them. She turned towards Seline who had just saved her life. She was on top of Black Wyke, shaking him, shouting with delerium. Levi ran over to them as fast as she could with her injured leg. Black Wyke was still alive, but Levi looked at his wound and knew it was fatal. The arrow did not miss its mark.
“They are all dead,” she said, drowned out by Seline’s sobbing.
He managed a smile through gritted teeth and picked up his helmet. He passed it to her with great effort. “Then,”, he wheezed, blood pouring from his mouth, “this is yours, Black Levi.”
“Please, Wyke, save your energy. Don’t leave us. We’ll get help. There will be a village close by. We’ll clean the wound, just stay with us!” Seline screamed.
He raised his arm and brought his sister close to him. He hugged her with the last of his strength. “Do me proud, sister. Do your duty.”
The Wise One then went to greet Yelia.
The remainder of the night was a blur. The feeling of loss overwhelmed her. It scared her, for she couldn’t remember feeling like this when a Wolf died, despite having known them for much longer. She guessed it was because Black Wyke had reminded her of her brother, whose memory she had kept firmly in the furthest place from her mind. She had never comforted anyone before, nor been comforted, and so she assumed that it was human nature, for she knew what to do with Seline. Hours seemed to have passed holding her, until Seline fell asleep in her arms, a sobbing mess. She laid her down near the fire. After that, she remembered to inspect the bodies in case there were clues as to where they came from. They did not seem to be assassins. They were deserters. They were once Sons, looking at their tattoos. Two were dressed in Khasari uniforms, torn up by sword swings. Seline should not know, she thought. She spent the rest of the night burying the bodies. She left Black Wyke, for she knew Seline would want to properly say goodbye.
Reign of Phyre Page 29