Reign of Phyre

by Nicholas Cooper

  Rhen didn’t think about what came after, because the thought of that journey had petrified him more than once, so he just tried to live in the present. “Um, I’m not sure. You know, I’m not a warrior; I don’t think I could dedicate myself to a cause such as becoming an Elsgard. I’m not Yalean, or Euphyrian, for one,” he turned the hare, the juices dripping into the fire, “But, I can’t really return home any time soon either. Rulven is tempting, but it’s a matter of time before Karzark responds and takes it again…hey, ever been to Lera? What’s it like there? Maybe I could start there.”

  “Well, at the moment, Reisch should be harrying a huge Karzarki force intent on taking the whole peninsula.”

  Rhen sighed again, “Oh, right. Well, I guess we’ll see where tomorrow takes me, I guess. The world I knew was turned upside down this winter, who knows what will happen in the time it takes us to get to Lera. I do know what I want to do right now though. I want to eat.” Rhen took off one of the hares and bit into it. The meat was not cooked to perfection, but it was cooked enough, and it was delicious to an empty stomach.

  “There’s quite a few hairs left on here,” came the expected complaint.

  “Deal with it.”

  After breaking camp, they carried on, no longer following the river but the mountains. The trees that covered some of the mountains were speckled with snow, but it was their peaks that were completely covered in white. These mountains were unconquerable, their peaks sharp, forboding.

  “How did you ever cross the Schism and the Myrian Mountains?”

  Kiern laughed. “First, that’s a secret, and second, the Myrian Mountains don’t extend all the way along the Schism.” Rhen knew they were getting closer when they both chose to omit the name of the Schism.

  “Right,” said Rhen, removing his notes from his satchel, “not far to go now.”

  “Since we’re nearly here, and I swear on the existence of Yalea that I won’t harm you, tell me how you knew where the Dawn Shield was.”

  Rhen sat up straight in his saddle, as if a shiver went down his spine. “Well, if you want the truth, for the longest time I didn’t.”

  Kiern didn’t hide the fact that he was shocked. Perhaps he tried, but Kiern was terrible at concealing. “What do you mean? You mean when we met, you were just singing a tune to save your life?”

  “When we met, that’s a nice way of putting it… No, I thought I knew, but I was wrong. That passage in Rulven proved my initial theory wrong, and then that was proven wrong a little later. Only a little while ago I still had no idea.”

  “You know,” said Kiern with a serious tone, “if you had led us somewhere…”

  “I know what my fate would have been,” said Rhen, nodding, “but I worked it out in the end, so I get to keep my head. The problem was not the location, but who it rests with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought it rested with Tarrae, the last of the Euphyrians and of the Rhasphyres. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I have never read a single source that mentioned it after the Great War. And so long as that Vaelynna is truly a Rhasphyre, then she ought to know where her family tomb is. If she does, and the Dawn Shield was there, there would be no reason why she wouldn’t be fighting with it now. And sure, I don’t know where Tarrae is entombed, but that can wait. I know where Tarryn Rhasphyre is buried. That’s where the Dawn Shield is.”

  “The Last Parasen Emperor?”

  “My first clue that began my journey was right. I just misinterpreted it. It’s always a damned riddle.”

  “What was the riddle? I’m intrigued.”

  “Taller than three to the west,

  Taller than one to the east,

  I cast the longest shadow of all,

  I shall stand when all others fall.”

  Rhen gave Kiern some time to work it out. “Tannis?”

  “See?! That’s what I thought too. There were five citadels, and Tannis was the bigger than the three to the west: Rulven, Akkad and Braest, and bigger than Jakkenmarch to the east. Its walls were the highest, hence the literal shadow, and they ruled from there, leaving their mark on the world, and since it was once the capital of Pyresia, they boasted it would never fall.”

  “So,” Kiern said looking confused, “it’s not Tannis.”

  “Nah,” said Rhen, “less metaphorical than I thought. It’s referring to mountains, and I’m betting my life it’s referring to these big bastards.”

  “Ah.”

  “So, keep a look out. We are looking for a mountain whose peak is higher than the three to its immediate left, and one to the immediate right. My guess is the biggest, Mount Hevan.”

  “Okay…but do you know how many mountains there are?”

  Rhen smiled. “Didn’t you say it’s not like the Myrian Mountains run all the way along the Schism?”

  “That’s not…well, pick a direction. Left or right?”

  “Given that Tannis was once the capital, I’d say we continue east.” Rhen had spent so much of his journey under duress, with the Elsgard needing to be somewhere or needing to meet someone, that now, with being so close, they let their horses walk, admiring the view as they went. It was nice, peaceful. Nature did not care for the folly of man. Indeed, the mountains and trees stood tall and above men. It made him feel small; his interest in the history of the world already made him small and insignificant when compared to all of what man had achieved, but even that was nothing to what nature was capable of.

  “I think, once we are done, I will come back here. I want to document what I see. There’s so much of this continent that I don’t know about, I want to see it all. That’s my answer to your question from earlier,” said Rhen, who was looking at a small waterfall running down the side of a mountain, half-frozen.

  “Are you planning on living five hundred years?”

  “Spend your days beside a Yalean and you can feel like you already have.”

  There was an inherent cruelty in the beauty Yelia had created. It was becoming clearer to Rhen that the truth in Kiern’s words would leave a hole in his heart that would continue to grow for the rest of his days. He wouldn’t be able to see it all. She had created more than any one person could appreciate. Learning the history of Cerenea and reconnecting with the world only exasperated this truth.

  The two rode on in wintery quiet. The wind had come to a stop and the snow softly came down, muffling all sounds around them save for their horses. They were tired and hungry, but their silence was not for self-preservation but rather in appreciation and awe of their surroundings. Perhaps both knew returning here was an unlikely possibility. Maybe the uncertainty, the fleeting reality of here and now stunned them into silent submission before the ancient mountains and forest.

  After a couple of hours of exasperated riding and looking at countless snowy mountain peaks, they came across a mountain that matched the description in the riddle. “There! Taller than three to its west, one to the east. Mount Hevan.”

  “Do you see some sort of opening or a path?” asked Rhen, looking to see if he could spot one.

  “Oh, shit. I see it. It’s…up. A crevice.” Sure enough, Rhen saw the crevice running left to right. The problem was that it about thirty feet above him. Kiern could see Rhen’s unhappiness with the situation, so he said, “Don’t worry. We have some rope. I’ll climb up first, tie it somewhere, and then haul you up.”

  The isolation of the north-east combined with the generally inhospitable terrain was enough to deter visitors, but there was no way someone could stumble upon the lost tomb. Only by having found and deciphered the riddle that Rhen had come across (and since destroyed) or by having the luck (or misfortune) to be born a Rhasphyre would grant you the knowledge of where to find the tomb. There was absolutely no indication the mountain contained such a secret. But there was not a single doubt in his mind.

  Kiern got to work fast, climbing up the cliff with the rope slung around his shoulder. He had nothing to tie the rop
e to, so instead nimbly climbed with nothing but his hands and feet. There was no way Rhen would even consider attempting to climb like that, and even if he would have the luxury of a rope, he still wasn’t certain he could steel himself. Much sooner than Rhen expected, however, Kiern was at the entrance of the crevice. Rhen couldn’t see where, but Kiern shouted that he had tied the rope down, and he could come up.

  Rhen was an adventurer at heart. He enjoyed trying new things, new experiences, meeting people from all walks of life. He gripped the rope with both hands; too short to tie around his waist or leg or whatever a more experienced man might suggest. It wasn’t too far above. So long as he could use his feet against the cliff to take some of the weight off, he would be okay. He hoped. As he climbed, his hands grew stiff, aware of the pressure and weight concentrated on them. It was at this point he had discovered something new about himself just now. He was terrified of heights. He was halfway up when he looked down.

  “Oh shit,” he said, for two reasons. He was high enough that if he fell, he would certainly break more than a few bones. The jagged rocks would make sure of it. His hands were strained under his weight and doubt crept in that he could make it all the way. The other was that there were thirty or so Khasari at the bottom, a few with their spears ready to be thrown on command.

  “Down, now. And you,” said a bearded Khasari, armour more decorative than the rest, “stay up there and don’t do anything stupid. You move, we’ll kill him.”

  They had come so close. Rhen could not hold the rope and wallow for long, so he obeyed and slowly descended. When he reached the ground, they surrounded him, spear points all around. The officer walked over to him and roughly took his sword that had been slung over his shoulder.

  “Impatientia. I bet there’s quite a story behind this. The Senate will be pleased with me indeed,” he said, admiring his homeland’s blade. Rhen did not bother asking for how long they had pursued them, or how they knew at all. He did not care for the sudden clarity about what the last hunter had told him yesterday, nor the regret in not telling Kiern. There was no point.

  “Thank you for leading us here,” the officer said, still admiring his new blade, “You came all this way, we’ll let you see it. I am not obliged by any stretch of the imagination, but providing you cooperate with us, we may have an incident where we lose you on the return journey.”

  Rhen had heard enough of these promises and had learned enough about the shield to know that the offer was a lie. Even Kiern could have done a better job. “You’ll let us go, after everything we’ve seen? After seeing the Khasari Heran tossed aside at its first inconvenience, I don’t have a lot of trust to put into the word of a Khasari these days.”

  Several of the others had started ascending with their own ropes, Kiern unable to do anything so long as Rhen was at spearpoint.

  The officer seemed to contemplate Rhen’s answer for a second, and then punched him in the face, knocking him off his feet. “You’re right. I’ll be honest with you. You’ve got two choices. Either you cooperate, and I’ll grant you a quick and relatively painless death, or you can try and be smart, and scream and shout regret from here all the way back to Karzark.”

  “Fine,” said Rhen, rubbing his jaw, “how can I be of service?”

  “You two can start by being first into the tomb. I would hate to fall victim to any traps along the way.”

  As promised, once they had all climbed and reached the entrance, it was Rhen and Kiern who went in first. Their hands were bound by rope, and a wall of Khasari spears made sure they had but one direction to move. After several of the Khasari had ascended, they hauled Rhen up, having seen him struggle. Rhen could have let go, but he did not have the heart for it. And they knew it. They grabbed his arms when he reached the top, throwing him not so kindly onto the ground.

  “Up.” He never realised how much he hated hearing his mother tongue until now.

  They were pushed forward at spear point. The entrance was no different than a naturally formed opening to a cave. The location must have been chosen for that reason. There was no need to draw attention to the location for looters and despoilers. They ducked under the rocky entrance, a little lower than head height.

  It was extremely dark inside, the outside light not daring to venture far into the cave. Rhen could vaguely make out that there were metal sconces along the walls. At least he knew they were in the right place. Some of the Khasari lit torches which illuminated the passage. As they did, the tomb was exposed for the first time in…centuries. And given that this would mark a momentous occasion if not for the circumstances, it felt…disappointing. The Rhasphyres of Old Phyre had ruled for ages that were beyond what the histories could determine. Even a conservative guess would make this tomb too small and too…unworthy. The walls were rock, untouched and unchanged. There was no polish, no prayers, nothing worthy of imperial power. The floor was dirt.

  This was not the Pyresian Rhasphyre family tomb. It belonged to an individual.

  There was only one direction the now tunnel went in, and so they slowly made their way forward, feeling along the wall, careful not to bump into anything. The Khasari tried to light a couple of sconces to help illuminate the room, but their contents were too old and refused to light. So, their small torches had to suffice, inadequate for a regular walking pace.

  Eventually, as their eyes adjusted, they saw the end of the passage. The path turned a corner and descended into a long ramp. The rock wall turned into smoothened stone wall, surrounding a large door. An Ill-boding aura brushed over Rhen and his hairs stood up on his body. Embedded in the centre of this heavy wooden door was the distinct metal surface of a shield, worn from time. Tarnished, fragile, it looked as though picking it up would be the end of it. It didn’t look special. It just looked like an ancient shield before it was imbued with Magick. It seemed without due care, even a caranaum was prone to weathering. Damn. I was right. The Rhasphyre who owned this tomb was the one he had been looking for. Tarryn. The Euphyrians never had the Dawn Shield. Vaelynna did not know about Tarryn’s tomb. She had been wrong. Then, why? Why was Tarryn here, why did he have the Dawn Shield buried with him?

  The Khasari saw the shield too, and the officer began to move forward. Unsure of its power, he wasn’t going to let Rhen or Kiern be the first to wield it. Suddenly, Kiern yelled and fell forward. He wasn’t moving. Rhen began to panic. He fell down to Kiern’s side, yelling if he was alright. The Khasari pulled him backwards, fear in their eyes. They all were on edge and they drew their weapons at Kiern. Long moments passed and Kiern had still not moved. The officer ordered one of the Khasari to investigate Kiern’s body.

  Just as he began to kneel, Kiern sprung to life, swiping the Khasari’s legs from underneath. He pounced on the soldier, and the others ran forward. They were thrown back by a force that Rhen knew was Kiern’s Magick. He felt sorry for his friend, knowing that he wouldn’t have used it if it wasn’t corrupting his mind.

  Making use of the time, however, Kiern found the sword on the Khasari’s waist, and furiously cut the ropes that bound his hand. He turned the corner, running to the Dawn Shield, both of them knowing that whatever hope they had of escaping lied solely with whatever power that shield possessed. Rhen had his doubts that such a treasure would lay forgotten in a cave if it did possess the imbued power of Caranaum. No one was sure what it would do, if anything, but there was no other option.

  The passage grew darker, for Kiern had extinguished the torches with his push. There was shouting coming from the Khasari, having regained their footing. There was confusion and panic, but Rhen could hear the commands full of rage too. Kill him. Now!

  Rhen couldn’t see that Kiern had grabbed it, but he knew that he had. Then, he knew that Vaelynna had not given an empty threat. He had been rejected, and not nearly in the same way as Impatienta. Kiern screamed as loud as what Rhen thought humanly possible, before it abruptly ended in the direction of a wall. It happened in only a split second and Rhen’s brain did no
t have the time to understand it before the sconces had somehow all lit up in unison, revealing a lifeless Kiern crumpled against the wall in the corner. Blood trickled down the wall, starting from Kiern’s head.

  Time slowed as Rhen’s brain went into overdrive, processing the horror of what just happened. He too let out a massive scream, rushing over to Kiern, in the hope that he could do something, but deep down he already knew it was too late. His world began to spin again, between dark and light and blood. All he could see was Kiern’s body, broken and smashed, his lifeblood dripping down, pooling at the floor.

  He broke down into tears, holding his friend. He didn’t care that the blood soaked his own clothes; he didn’t care that he probably would never be able to sleep again. Why couldn’t he have told him? Why didn’t he warn him about his blood? Why didn’t he tell him to let the Khasari touch it first? He held his friend, sobbing uncontrollably. Whatever happened next did not matter to him.

  “I hope your friend finds eternal rest. His recklessness saved me a gruesome death,” said the officer, with no kindness in his words.

  “Not only have we found the Dawn Shield, but also Magick. After centuries, it rears its ugly head again. The commanders would be most interested. I can already see my promotion waiting back home.”

  Rhen didn’t care what the officer was saying. He openly wept as he looked upon his friend’s lifeless, bloodied body. He felt himself stand, but through his daze he was not entirely sure if it was of his own volition or not. When he lifted his head, he wet himself.

  In front of him stood a small army, their shields adorned with a particular emblem. At the front, stood a man in the armour that Rhen had only read about in books. That famed bronze armour, the eagle helmet…

  “He had Galascean blood. The Shield rejected him. Do you know who I am, blood of my blood?”

  Rhen swallowed hard, the answer known to him. “I do.”

  “Who the hell are you?” asked the Khasari officer, without a sliver of authority, slowly retreating, along with his men. They had their spears and shields raised, but Rhen could see the whites of their eyes.