Both his mother and father smiled at him, a soft, sad smile which broke the dam he had built to hold back his emotions. Kyron lunged forward and fell into their arms, sobbing, crushing them to him, breathing deeply of their scent, so familiar, so lost to time, so needed, so safe. He felt small hands stroke his hair while his father’s hand patted him awkwardly.
“Let him cry, Ryce.” It was his master’s voice. “We have time and he has been holding this in since I met him.”
“He shouldn’t have,” his mother said. “His grandfather should have let him have his tears.”
“It isn’t my father’s way, Aedre,” Kyron’s father said. “You know that, but he raised him, gave him safety, and let him choose his own path.”
“Learned from his mistakes, you mean.” His mother’s voice was like steel, cold and unbending.
“He did the best he could,” Padarn said. “He let him go, let him join the Gymnasium though he knew the risks and troubles it would cause.”
“And you brought him to the forest,” his mother said.
“As I came when I was young,” Padarn answered. “I could see it in him. The desire to wander, to learn, but it was shrouded from him. Too used to hierarchy and certainty.”
“With an army though?” his father asked, as Kyron’s tears began to ease.
“It was an opportunity,” Padarn said, “and service and duty run in his bones.”
He heard his father grunt in acknowledgment.
“I’m sorry,” Kyron said, sitting back and wiping the tears away with the edge of his tunic.
“Don’t apologise for crying, Kyron,” his father said, “there’s usually a good reason for it. We cried,” Kyron saw his father take his mother’s hand and squeeze, “when we lost you.”
“I lost you,” Kyron corrected.
“It depends on how you look at it,” his father said with a smile.
“Why are you here?” Kyron tried again, rebuilding the dam and holding back the grief, sadness, loneliness, and joy which threatened to overwhelm him.
“Where should we be, Kyron?” his mother asked.
“The priests tell us that we are all together again in the Flame,” Kyron said, recalling words heard in Church.
“Not our priests, son,” his father said. “We belong to the Heart of the Forest. The Flame is just a story. All fire does is burn and destroy.”
“It warms us,” Kyron said, recalling the lessons from the priests when he was younger, “and cooks our food.”
“It consumes, Kyron,” his father corrected, “look at the wood beneath your cooking pot and you’ll see embers, dust which will be blown away on the wind. All the life which was in it is lost to us, carried away to other lands, other shores.”
“The tribes use fire to cook,” Kyron pointing to the low fire which burned in the centre of the home.
“And the ash is contained, dug back into the soil and earth, returning it to the forest,” his father replied.
“The soldiers were cremated,” Kyron said. “Why are they not here?”
“There are not, in my limited experience, any of the Empire here,” Padarn said.
“There are,” his mother countered. “At least those, like us, who were part of the Empire and knew of their heritage. Those that understood and made the arrangements.”
“We are from the Empire,” Kyron pointed out, gazing at the three faces which looked back at him in silence for a long time.
His father was the first to speak. “How much of the Empire history do you know and understand, Kyron?”
“I know what Grandfather taught me, and what Padarn has told me over the years,” Kyron answered.
“He listens,” Padarn shrugged, “but it never sticks unless he finds out for himself. I had to take him out of the lessons at the Gymnasium and teach him differently. His teachers called him stubborn and I would not disagree with their assessment. However, I think it is also that he finds trusting hard. His grandfather could certainly attest to both aspects of his personality.”
“Your grandfather’s grandfather,” his father said in the patient manner a parent talks to a difficult child, “was not of the Empire. He was born and raised in the forest which once covered much of the eastern half of the continent.”
“He was one of the tribes?” Kyron said, looking at the three faces who stared back at him.
“When the Empire arrived, they invaded the forests. Cut it down to make their ships, towns, and cities. Began farming, cultivating the land for crops and preventing the forest from returning. They marched north, bit by bit, year by year, taking control of the land. Some tribes saw the end coming and chose to join the Empire,” his father explained.
“It has happened before,” Padarn added. “The southern continent of the Empire is just the same. A history of conquered lands and conquered people who were absorbed into the Empire.”
“Where did it begin? The Empire, I mean.”
“Much further south, in a single city over a thousand years ago,” Padarn said. “The history is there in the Gymnasium should you wish to read it, though the scribes did become bogged down by every tiny detail.”
“The point is, Kyron,” his mother said, “that you are of the tribes, just as we are, your grandfather is, and Padarn. For you it has been many generations since your ancestors lived in the forests.”
“Barely three generations for me,” Padarn interjected.
“When I… When we,” his father said, glancing at his wife, “found out the truth we wanted to connect with our past, to find out more, and,” his father shrugged, “I was never going to join the army as my father wanted.”
“But the tribes killed you,” Kyron said.
“Outlaws killed us, Kyron,” his mother said in a voice filled with sadness. “It was all we could do to hide you.”
“Outlaws from the tribes.”
“Some may have been, but a lot spoke the language of the Empire,” his father said. “There was a lot of gold in the hills and the village we lived in was not big enough to afford a militia. The Empire soldiers were stretched thin, and we had been given warnings.”
“I think they were hungry,” his mother said.
“I think they were greedy,” his father countered. “It doesn’t matter. The key is to understand that it wasn’t the tribes, at least, not only people of the tribes.”
“Why am I here?” Kyron said, shaking his head and trying to clear his thoughts, looking for certainty.
“You’re not dead,” his mother said. “If that were the case, we would be crying also.”
“Then why?”
“Because we had the chance to see you,” his father said.
“Because Gwri and Emlyn made it possible,” Padarn answered.
“Emlyn?”
“She and I had a talk in the camp, when you were maintaining the wards, after I collapsed in the first raid,” Padarn confessed. “I asked her to look out for you if anything happened to me. Explained a little of your history to her.”
A thought struck Kyron and he blurted it out before he could think it through. “You killed people of the tribes, Master. You fought against them. Killed your own people.”
“I protected us,” Padarn countered. “I protected the soldiers. The tribes chose to attack, I chose to defend. I was raised in the Empire, Kyron, just as you were. If you look though, if you read, you’ll find our history in the library of the Gymnasium.. I am still loyal to the Gymnasium, if not the Empire entirely. Unlike others,” he made a vague gesture to encompass the area outside of the hut, “I can see some of the good the Empire brings to places, and I know the bad also. There is always conflict, Kyron. Some of it large, politics and marching armies, and many will die during those times. Between people who care for one another there is conflict, though tempered with love. In here and here,” he tapped his skull and heart in turn, “there is conflict. You resolve each as you will, as dictated by knowledge, reason, morals, and ethics. More than that you cannot ask.”
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“Which still doesn’t explain why I am here,” Kyron snapped, standing and pacing. “Going on is hard enough without you, Master. I don’t know what to do, what to say, and what is right. Now, you’ve turned my world upside down and shaken it so hard I don’t know where to stand, on which side I should stand, or even who I am.”
“You are who you’ve always been,” his mother said, stepping around the fire and running her fingers through his hair. “My son, there is no right and wrong, no black and white. Life is not such a simple thing. You cannot look at each decision you make and bind yourself in chains of worry. Trust who you are. Trust the person you’ve grown into. Your father and I set your feet on a path. Your grandfather, though I disagreed with him often, has guided your feet with best intentions. Master Padarn, and we have talked a lot about you since he came here, has given you chances to take the paths you felt were right for you, and helped you learn to walk on your own. Now, the path is yours alone to tread upon.”
His father stood and placed a hand on Kyron’s shoulder. “Decide who you want to be and what is right for you. The choices are yours to make. Even your grandfather would admit to that.”
“But I don’t know,” Kyron complained.
Padarn stood in front of him and took his free hand. “You’ve always learned best by experience, Kyron. Go and find out.”
Kyron fell.
XLIII
The General
Five years ago:
“I’m worried about him,” Decima said across the table. “He hasn’t slept well for a month or so.”
“I know that, Decima. His mood is worsening every day and nothing I say is right,” the old man answered, lifting the watered wine to his lips and taking a drink.
“He had nightmares when he first came,” Gressius said, “not that he remembers now, but this is something else.”
“Maybe we should ask the medicus to look at him?”
“You have failed, General.”
Bordan swallowed as the Princess slammed the shutters on the driving rain and fires which burned across the stone bridge in the distance.
“A simple bridge,” Aelia continued. “That is all I asked you to do. Take the bridge and march our army across. What my father saw in you has long since faded, General.”
“They expected us, Your Highness.” Bordan stood stiff, forcing his hands to stay relaxed by his side and his tone to remain even. “The bridge is littered with barriers and obstacles. The men cannot form a rank and, in the dark, they are easier targets for the mercenaries we face.”
“General, the amulet and my father’s body could be here tomorrow.” The Princess stormed to the table, grabbed the goblet, took a deep swallow and her expression soured further. Glancing to the lone servant in the room, she snapped, “Fresh wine.”
“We will take the bridge, my Princess,” Bordan said, shifting his gaze to Godewyn for a moment. He received a shrug in return. “The rain is making the task much more difficult. When it clears, we will have much more luck.”
“Luck. Luck, he says,” Aelia called out, casting the empty goblet onto the table where it rolled to a halt on the map, the last dribble of red wine staining the drawings. “I don’t want luck, General. I want Abra dead.”
“As do I, Your Highness,” Bordan assured her.
Aelia stared at him for a long moment and sighed. “One would hope so, General. When do you expect to take the bridge?”
“If the rain lets up, by dawn. If not, then mid-morning at the latest. We will take the bridge, Your Highness. My soldiers will fight and die for you.”
“My soldiers, General, and well they should. Master Magician?”
Vedrix, sat in the far corner nursing his own goblet of wine, had contributed little to each discussion, answering only when asked, stirred back to life. “Hrm… Yes, Princess?”
“Can you not make this rain disappear so our brave General can take the bridge?”
“That is not within my power. Not with a thousand magicians could I make that happen,” Vedrix answered.
“Then what use are you?” Aelia huffed, falling into her chair. Vedrix did not answer, merely focused his gaze upon the goblet of wine.
“My High Priest,” Aelia turned her gaze to Godewyn. “Perhaps you could press upon the Angels of the Holy Flame to stop the rain.”
“I have prayed for that to be so, Your Highness,” Godewyn said in his smooth, warmest voice. “I am sure they are at work on your behalf even as we speak.”
“At least one of my advisors has some use,” Aelia crowed, standing from her seat as if being still was somehow a crime, and moved around the desk to stand next to the High Priest. “General, go to your forces and do not return until the bridge is taken. Let us see if you can serve as well as my High Priest.”
Bordan swallowed once again, his jaw tense, teeth grinding and bowed. “Of course, my Princess.”
“I’ve stood in the ranks, Your Highness,” Godewyn said. “The General is doing all he can, as are the troops. The Flame is on our side, we will be victorious here.”
“We must be,” Aelia said. “General, go with my good wishes for a speedy victory.”
“You shouldn’t be in the ranks, General,” Spear Sarimarcus said.
“Perhaps not, Spear,” Bordan agreed as the rain dripped from his helmet and chilled the exposed flesh of his hands, “but we need to take that bridge as quick as we can. Down here I can make decisions and have them acted on quicker.”
“You put yourself at too much risk.”
“I’ll be safe enough amongst the ranks, Spear,” Bordan said with a wry smile, ignoring the quizzical look he earned in return. He glanced east and saw the hazy light of the hidden sun progress in its rise. “I think we’ve got the best light we’re going to get. Order the men forward, Spear. Let us bring our Princess her first victory.”
He looked left and right along the front rank of the Empire’s army and the warmth of pride swept through him. They were his army, inherited from the General before, but honed and sharpened, moulded into the most formidable force he could imagine and led by officers of virtue.
Gripping the worn hilt of his gladius, Bordan nodded to the Aenator ahead. “Let’s make this one a proper attack. We are taking that bridge and marching for the Emperor. Sound the advance. Raise the banner high.”
The Aenator raised the bugle to his lips and blew out the call for advance and beside him the banner was raised high by another warrior. A cheer rose from the lines and, despite the rain, the cold, and the disquiet which had settled in his heart, Bordan raised his voice alongside his men.
When the call faded, and as well as any troop fresh off the parade ground, the front rank stepped forward as one. Behind them came the second and third. Though the army was smaller than that which had gone north with the Emperor, their feet still caused the earth to reverberate with every step. The clank and jingle of harness, shield, sword and armour was sweet counterpoint to the bass thrum of the march.
When the Empire marched, other nations quaked. So the saying went and nothing in his experience suggested that not to be the truth.
The rain fell and the wind flung it into his face as the bridge came into focus, smoke still rising from its span adding yet more grey to the sky.
“That’ll be the carts,” Sarimarcus said. “The mercenaries set some on fire. They’re laden with amphorae of oil, so they exploded and killed quite a few of our soldiers in the first assault.”
Bordan winced once more. Even though he had read the reports, the memory of visiting the burned troops this morning was yet another memory he would carry to his grave. Faces melted like candle wax, weeping puss and blood, smothered in honey, and very few able to do more than groan in pain despite the distillate of poppy they were fed by the medicus who attended them.
“After two went up in great balls of fire, the mercenaries started using flaming arrows and fire-pots thrown from as far as they could,” Sarimarcus continued as they marched closer.
> “There are more on the bridge?” Bordan asked, more to keep the conversation going and his mind off the incipient bloodshed.
“Reports say they cleared half the bridge last night,” the Spear answered. “We’ve still got scouts near the bridge reporting back. The latest information is that more have appeared near the rear of the bridge. Two scouts tried to get a closer look but were attacked by archers. Both made it back alive, but one will likely lose the use of his arm.”
“And the river itself?”
“In spate, General,” Sarimarcus said. “We sent some of our best swimmers to look last evening and again this morning. It is too fast and too full to cross. Even a small boat would not get very far, and likely come under attack by archers. They’ve filled both towers at the far end.”
“And those at the town end of the bridge?” Bordan pointed to the two round towers with their crenulations peeking out of the rain.
“Are ours now,” Sarimarcus said. “I’ve got archers stationed in them, but it is something of a stalemate. Given the rain and wind, our arrows cannot reach them, nor theirs reach us.”
“But the threat has kept them back?”
“Most assuredly,” Sarimarcus nodded. “They tried a few times to send troops across, but soon retreated from our arrows.”
“So,” Bordan sighed, “it still comes down to us marching across that bridge and clearing it.”
“I’m afraid so, General.”
“Well,” Bordan looked up at the sky, hoping the rain would clear but lacking faith in the outcome of Godewyn’s prayers, “let us get it done. We will halt near the bridge. I want the latest reports brought to me. If there are more carts on the bridge, send the strongest archers up to the towers with orders to set them alight, if they can. I’d rather they had already exploded before I send the men in.”
“As you command,” Sarimarcus said, saluting, and breaking ranks to issue orders to his runners and officers.
The ground shook as another cart went up in flames and even the rain gave way for the barest beat of a heart.
“That’s all the carts they could reach with their arrows,” Sarimarcus announced.
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