Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  Jozlyn still gritted her teeth at the notion, wondering where this war would be had Morganne been involved. She had once held the utmost pride in her people and their abilities. Twenty men and women from her town could easily wipe out three times their number in a matter of seconds. Just a small group of gunslingers would have saved lives, bolstered morale, and tilted battles in the favor of Vallance. Instead, Morganne stood quietly for far too long.

  To Jozlyn, its silence had caused as many deaths as any Cresul could have.

  And part of those casualties included a warrior’s spirit and a gunslinger’s home.

  With both holding heavy thoughts and hearts, Jozlyn and Shan again made their way out into the approaching night.

  -3-

  The road to Rahn had been a long one. Serra and the others had mostly traveled into the nights, using the daylight hours for resting and hiding. These were dangerous times where even the sunlight could betray you. And if darkness kept her friends alive, then Serra welcomed it gladly. She absently wondered when the last time was she had fully enjoyed the mid-day sun. Serra knew instantly that he had been alive when it had happened.

  However, those days, like him, were nothing more than a fond memory.

  Serra banished such thoughts, instead focusing on the fact her entourage had finally made it to the town’s gates. Rahn, though on alert and more fortified than in seasons past, was still a most welcome sight. Serra would soon report to Sindara Preece, the town’s leader about their findings. Hopefully, after that, if all went well, she would be lucky enough to acquire a hot meal, an even hotter bath and a real night’s sleep. It seemed a vain hope in these times, but sometimes hopes were all that kept you going.

  Serra had found it difficult to acquire much information from Lianna Navor as they traveled. The young woman moved when it was time and would eat if you fed her. Yet Lianna’s eyes met no one, including Serra’s. Even so, it was Serra that she had allowed to clean her up, and it was Serra that she would sometimes speak to. Serra surmised that Lianna would have had more to say had the others in the group not put her at unease, as uniformed soldiers made her uncomfortable. The constant banter between Vonack and Geyre did not help either, and Serra was just grateful that their bickering had not placed the group in danger

  After days of travel, Serra had garnered enough information to understand fully the pain that Lianna had endured. This information also confirmed Serra’s suspicions and further emphasized the gravity of the situation. It was simply one word that had spoken a thousand to Serra. Over a long cold night Serra had been able to extract the truth from Lianna at last, and the word put all the pieces into place.

  That word had been Cresul.

  There were unconfirmed reports that Nathaniel Cresul, general of the attacking forces of Thorne, was in Galvin. The small town had become a staging area for Thorne and Cresul had used it to his full advantage. Not only did Cresul enjoy an unopposed entry into Vallance, but apparently he had enjoyed recreation as well. The fearful, pained eyes of Lianna had offered volumes into that realization. Serra’s heart broke for the Galvin native, as she was only a few years older than Serra. Serra instead focused her thoughts on the town before her and the joy it offered.

  Before the group, Rahn shined as a welcome, guarded beacon. Serra was relieved to see that Rahn was still unscathed by the years of war. To her, Rahn had always resembled a scaled down version of Bannar. Many people had referred to it as the capital's younger, southern sister. And while there were many differences between the two, but there was just enough similarity to make Bannar refugees homesick, Serra among them.

  Serra made it through the fortified gates of Rahn with little trouble and guards led her group through the streets to the town’s keep. Serra found it difficult to look at the once cheerful roads and people of Rahn. Fear and pain permeated as townspeople nursed wounded soldiers and refugees in front of their homes. It was clear from their faces that there had been another battle and another loss for the people of Vallance. Serra gritted her teeth as darker thoughts pervaded her mind. How much longer can we endure? How many more losses can we sustain before there is nothing else to lose? Serra did not know that answer, only the consequences of such a loss. There would be no mercy for her and her country, even through surrender. All they could do was fight until they had achieved victory.

  Or die trying.

  Upon the streets, Serra witnessed the vast amounts of the wounded, dying, and those that fought to ease the former and save the latter. She observed young and old alike resting their weary souls from miles of travel, cast from their homes to a road of suffering and uncertainty. Serra even spotted a handful of Ro’Nihn offering their multitude of talents to help. Serra knew that these Ro’Nihn had to have been the most exhausted of all. Yet somehow the Axiter natives never showed their weariness, only continued to draw on from unknown reservoirs. Serra found herself ever grateful for these men and woman, for they would do all in the power to remain guardians of Vallance.

  After what seemed like painful ages, the keep was upon them, engulfed in rampant activity. No sooner had they made it through the large doors when Serra heard the voice of Sindara Preece. The courageous Rahn leader made her way through the crowd and toward Serra. Serra smiled at Sindara as she approached, admiring the leader for her equal parts of compassion and political skills. A just leader, Sindara knew when to offer a caring word or firm hand depending on the situation.

  Sindara’s appearance had changed little since the war, save for the weariness pressing around her eyes. Her hair braid was just a shade longer and she still was a visage that sent many a man into a swoon. Sindara could be an intimidating woman, but the easy smile she gave as she approached put Serra immediately at ease. Her steps were quick as she finally caught up to the little entourage.

  Relief filled Sinara’s words as she spoke. “Serra, I am glad you are safe. We had heard the news of increased military activity near Galvin and feared for your lives. It is good to have you all back where we can offer you protection.”

  Serra took Sindara’s hands in her own, giving them a squeeze before hugging Rahn’s leader. “You and your town are most welcome sights, Sindara. It is good to see you too.” Serra pulled back and looked at the older woman. She motioned with her head toward the rest of the group. “The greatest danger we found on the road was the very same danger we took with us. However, they survived each other so that is a welcome victory.” Geyre and Vonack averted their eyes from Sindara’s direction as Serra pointed them out. “How are things here?”

  Sindara drew a slow breath to dissolve some of her frustration. “Things are as they are to be expected. Our plight is nonstop and my streets are filling faster than my food and supply stores can keep up. But we press on to the best of our abilities.” Sindara looked at the group and then back to Serra as she shifted subjects. “Well, we had better get you situated. You all require a much-deserved rest and a decent meal. Come with me.”

  “You have no idea how good that sounds,” said Serra as she followed, motivated instantly by the offer.

  Sindara led Serra and the others down busy hallways. All the while Rahn’s leader spoke of recent misfortunes, many of which Serra had already heard. Adaven was still missing and there was no new word from Rucker. Supplies were dwindling and faith in Esaundra Denore’s leadership continued to erode through the populace.

  Eventually, they reached their destination and into a dining room that appeared to have been readied for their arrival. Servers were still bringing hot plates to an already tantalizing table as they entered. Serra’s nose was serenaded by an intoxicating array of culinary aromas. Instantly, her stomach ordered for her to sit and she was sure it was the same for the others. Serra waited until everyone was seated before her focus rested solely on the food laid out before them.

  Serra's group wasted no words as they sat down and devoured the biggest meal that any of them had seen in months. Sindara sat at the head of the table, amused at her friends’ enthus
iasm as they tore into the feast. For a long while no words were spoken. Even the ever-quiet Lianna ate without reservation. Serra noticed that while they hated each other, Geyre and Vonack at least shared ravenous appetites and similar eating habits.

  Finally, the feasting slowed as bellies began to fill. Serra sat back in her chair, satisfied and completely full. Geyre wasted no time kicking back and putting his feet on the table. Vonack rested his chin on the table as he let himself take a moment to do nothing but digest. Upon finishing her meal, Lianna put her hands on her lap and sat in silence. Sindara waited before she finally broke the silence. “What news have you gathered on your journey, Serra?”

  Serra wiped at her mouth with a cloth. “It’s just as we feared, Sindara. Thorne’s forces are being bolstered as we speak. They are currently occupying Galvin, Allandar, and every small town within a 20-mile radius of Galvin. Their forces are swelling and have just received ample supplies from Thorne. Vallance losses in the region are high, and those men and women that have not been killed are now slave labor or enduring horrible indoctrination process.” Serra paused for a moment, obviously sickened by the notions. “Cresul is in Galvin and his troops are mobilizing. We haven’t seen this kind of activity since the fall of Bannar. I believe without a doubt that he will be leading a force further into our lands soon to end this war once and for all.”

  Sindara nodded her head. For five long years Cresul had been the bane of Vallance. After laying waste to Bannar, he had immediately pulled the bulk of his forces back to the northwest. Since that time, he had waged in pure guerrilla warfare tactics and currently had small bands of his forces spread across Vallance as far as to Nadarr. Patient and confident, he appeared to have no trouble with taking Vallance piece by piece. And so far, all attempts to repel his attacks had failed miserably.

  The leader of Rahn pulled herself from her thoughts. “What do you think is his next target?”

  Serra thought about the question for a moment. “Well if I had to guess. . .” Serra was cut short by a quite audible burp.

  She turned to see Geyre with one hand on his chest forcing the belch while the other held a knife with a piece of meat hanging from it. Serra was about to continue but Geyre spoke first. “Hopefully the bastard is on his way to Shinteu to stick his blade up Toller’s ass. If we were to lose anything else in this war, he's the only thing I’d pray for. Hell, he’s crammed up tighter than Morganne and Vaalin and the rest of his sissies.”

  Serra turned back to Sindara. “The man is not without his charms,” she offered

  Sindara nodded. “Don’t forget it is Rahn that must claim his birth. But please, go on.”

  Vonack finally added his voice to the room. “Pay him no mind, Sindara.” Vonack motioned with his head across the table toward Geyre. “He’s too stubborn and too blind to notice the few good things that are still going our way. He’s–”

  Before Vonack could finish, Geyre stood up with enough force to knock his chair onto the ground. As he did, he took the knife in his hand and drove it into the table. As it made its mark the others jumped but none more so than Lianna. He looked at Vonack dead in the eyes with hatred and fury. “I’ll tell you what’s going for us right now, High and Mighty, not a gods damning thing!” Vonack shot up from his chair, anger swelling in his cheeks. He said nothing as Geyre continued. “Now you all can sit here and keep on talking about what we should and should not do to win back this war but quite frankly, I’m tired of idle, wishful thinking! Have a nice night.” Geyre kicked his chair away from him and stormed from the room.

  Serra and the others watched silently as Geyre fumed from the dining room. Vonack was still on his feet, at least six shades of red. His fists were clenched as tight as his teeth, and he looked as if he desperately wished to follow Windfalls and have it out. Thankfully, he stayed where he was. That would have been a perfect end to a horrible day, thought Serra. It’s bad enough that the enemy is killing us that we must start trying to do ourselves in.

  Sindara motioned for Vonack to sit. “Leave him be. I’ve known him long enough to know when his grief has gotten the best of him. He just needs time to sort it out,” she said.

  Vonack reluctantly crashed into his seat, the color still in his face. “He’s got a funny damn way of showing it,” he mumbled.

  Sindara continued. “Maybe he does, but right now he truly is upset. You must understand that much. Like Azhan of Nadarr, Geyre still blames himself for the death of Enora Ashener. The years have only made him harder, but that night has haunted him ever since. He doesn’t like watching us lose while feeling powerless to stop it and he’s never been one to express such feelings. He bears the burden of Enora’s death, and he shall choose to wear it until his own.”

  “That night will haunt most of us for the rest of our lives, I’m sure,” said Serra. At the sound of the name of an Ashener, her body clenched in grief and loss, of times that were and would never be again.

  Vonack was still doubtful. “How could you even know that or defend his behavior, Lady Preece?”

  At this, Sindara smiled. “Because, Vonack, I’ve known Geyre all of his life, from the moment that he started walking. I knew his parents and know of just about every event that made Geyre who he is today. Geyre had a miserable beginning and fully expects to have an ending to match it.”

  Vonack placed one of his arms on the table in front of him, refusing to let it go. “I still don’t think that justifies his little tantrum.”

  Sindara chuckled. “Tantrum you call it? I haven’t heard it called that before. My dear, Vonack, he left for your sake as much as for his own. I’m just glad I didn’t have to have you restrained for following him.”

  “And why is that?” huffed Vonack

  Sindara’s smile suddenly faded. “Quite simply, Vonack, he would have killed you.” Vonack slammed his resting fist against the table, rattling the dinnerware, but Sindara continued. “Now hear me, Vonack, and hear me well. You were intent on following Geyre and teaching him a lesson, even if you had to pound it into him. Geyre would not waste time on such lessons. He wasn’t trained to fight in such a way. The man who trained him, his father, taught him to kill or be killed. While I have no doubt you are quite capable, Geyre has been honed into a deadly knife fighter since he could hold a blade. Rest assured that once he strikes, be it intentional or not, then it’s over. And you don’t get a second chance to learn a lesson like that again.” She let the words sink in for a moment. “So, if you are going to go off and finish whatever it is that started on the road, then I feel you should know that first. But I think we’ve seen enough death in Rahn for one day.”

  Vonack’s face continued to redden, but he remained silent. He looked again at the doorway where Geyre had recently exited before staring at his empty plate. Holding his drink firmly in both hands, Vonack focused on it as he attempted to calm his breathing. He would remain in his seat, but obviously would not be pleased about it.

  Serra then tried to change the subject to break the uncomfortable silence that had risen around the table. “Sindara, what is the official word on Adaven Milestor? On the road, we heard that he was missing but nothing more. Is there trouble in Rucker?”

  Sindara nodded somberly. “I am afraid there is,” she said as she sat back in her chair and took a drink from her wine. Swishing the contents around in the glass she continued. “Not long after you left last, a strike force from Thorne was reported to be heading toward Rucker. Adaven, not wanting the fight to hit the streets of his town sent out a battle group to oppose Cresul’s force.”

  “What happened?” Serra had to know.

  Sindara drew a quick, frustrated breath as she placed a tangle of weary hair behind her ear. “Two things happened actually. Along the way, Cresul’s forces were bolstered as several small squads of men went undetected by our scouts. The closer to Rucker Thorne got, the more their force swelled. The second was Adaven had not sent enough men to handle such a contingency. They fought bravely of course, but that l
ine has become the beginning of many tales of defeat for the history books.”

  The gravity of Sindara’s words bled into the souls of those around her. Garen spat on the ground in disgust before taking a long pull from his mug. The others held quiet, but Serra plodded on. “Then it is worse than we feared. What happened to Adaven and Rucker?”

  Sindara shook her head as her features soured. She was not excited about sharing the news. “Rucker was spared, but it came at a terrible price and gamble. Though heavily fortified, Adaven still feared for his people. Before his retreating strike force arrived back in town, he took a small group out himself to meet them. Can you believe it? 175 years old and putting himself in such a danger! Well, where was I? So Adaven made it obvious it was he that was outside of Rucker so Cresul’s scouts would take notice. Sending the wounded and most of his men back home, he then led a group of volunteers dead south in hopes that Cresul’s force would pursue his head rather than his lands. And somehow his gamble paid off.” Sindara took another drink. “That was the last we heard of Adaven Milestor or of the others of his entourage.”

  The room had obtained a morbid quietness about it. The only sound to be heard was the occasional exhale or the steady chewing of whatever Garen chose to chew on with methodical precision. Finally, it was Garen who spoke. His head was lowered with arms crossed as the gravity of the news sunk in fully. “Just how on all hells did it come to this?” His voice was nothing more than a strained, aggravated whisper.

  Sindara poured herself another careless glass of wine. The rich red liquid collected with ease as the leader of plodded on. “Oh, I think you know whether we want to see it or not: coordinated attacks, treachery in the ranks, and a total disillusionment of a nation. But even those things can be summed up into one: General Nathaniel Cresul.” At the name, Lianna clearly tensed. Sindara noted this for later reference. Taking a glance at her drink, Sindara vanquished the rest of its contents in one powerful pull. “If I were reading all of this in a history book, I’d admire him in some way, the damnable bastard. I’d have to say he spent years on his war plan. He knew when, where, and how hard to hit us.” The leader of Rahn rubbed at her temple. Serra knew she had endured many headaches since the start of the war. She remained quiet as Sindara continued. “Of course, you can thank Rhoneck for a lot of valuable information and insight, but Cresul is one inventive genius when it comes to tactics. The reports I have received so far about his methods and his progress are unnerving.” Sindara began count absently on her fingers. “Just look at the attack on Bannar. Cresul did the impossible because of extensive research. All outposts along the way were pacified. All communications were disabled. Thanks to Rhoneck, Cresul knew where to move his armies undetected. And using the flags and uniforms from Hurler Rinstan’s decimated forces, Cresul could get close to outposts and towns with minimal effort and loss to his army. All this was bad, but when we factor in the loss of manpower and firepower in the absence of Morganne, then well you have a battered and disillusioned country. As for Bannar, Cresul was able to have Rhoneck reach town with his news, while allowing some of his specialists to infiltrate under the guise of the Bannar’s home defense force. We were all moved to meet this opposition, and it was just enough to ensure the town could not be properly defended. That night, Rhoneck and his saboteurs took out the watchmen and could sit back and watch the beginning of a losing streak that has lasted five long years. It was a big gamble of course, but one that unfortunately for us paid off.”