With a sigh, Oren returned the purse. “I don’t know what to do, Narra,” he said quietly, his eyes looking down. “It’s been two days I’ve been locked in here. What’s the purpose of this? Hiding while Efri is gods know where, while you do all the work. Arick’s gone, we still do not know why. What am I meant to do, Narra? I made a promise.”
“I don’t know.” She hid the coin purse and took hold of his hand. “Oren, I cannot imagine how that feels, but we can go to Istra and—.”
“What?” he interrupted. “Do we live happily ever after? There’s nothing for me in Istra.”
Narra could not find the right words to say, for she knew Oren was right. In the end, even she didn’t want to live in Istra like before. “Very well, then you decide. I follow wherever you go.”
“No.” He smiled. “I don’t know where I will go. Wherever that is, I can’t force you to follow me. I’m sorry, Narra.”
“You’re not forcing me.”
“Even if it may not seem so, in a way, I am. If I go somewhere dangerous and you die, it’d be on me. Your choices would be driven by mine, following in my footsteps. I could not live with it, not ever.” He touched her cheek. “Go to Istra, live the life you wanted without, Ceril and his abuse.” With those words, he left her sitting on the bed while he headed for the bathroom.
As the door closed, tears began to run down her smiling cheeks. She was not unhappy, Oren was right, and she knew so. Yet it was a moment she once knew would come but in her folly forgot.
Narra fell asleep soon after, hugging her half of the blanket. When she woke up, Oren was lying beside her, his back turned to her. Yet he had a smile on his face a smile she planned not to interrupt. She wished to plan just how to convince him, how to force him to take her with him, but realized it was never about that. It wasn’t even about her safety. Orena had a purpose in life, a promise to save his friend, and it was something he had to do it alone. Prince Aelir’s words came to her. What kind of a story would it be
Passing on a morning bath, she rushed down and helped herself to a platter of food, leaving a few silvers next to the innkeeper who was sleeping with the cloth still in hand.
It was her last food in Natind. There was no reason for her to stay, and if Oren goes, so shall she. While he goes on to save his friend, she will search for the purpose of her life.
As she was finishing up her second piece of bread, the innkeeper, Ulsa, came to her. Just like every morning, her eyelids were heavy, and she was barely standing. “Are you alright, sweetie?” she asked, sitting opposite of her.
Long Narra thought of an answer. There was nothing to gain by lying, and so she told the truth, “No.”
“Is it Oren?” Narra nodded. “Tell me, what’s happened?”
“We were never together Ulsa, we lied about almost everything. He’s leaving now, and so am I. I am so sorry.”
Even she was surprised. “That’s all good, sweetie. You’re not the only one who omitted some truths.” Narra looked at her, unsure whether she wants to know. “The man that was with you, Arick. He told me the truth before going to Istra.”
“Why?”
“Said you two were lying about being together, he really seemed jealous of you and Oren. I didn’t even listen proper. Then he told me Oren was one of the rebels.” She sighed. “Didn’t wanna tell ya, because, well, I like you two.”
Narra laughed. “Thank you Ulsa. Of course, he was jealous.” It never even came across her mind. After all, it was he who approached her back in Beria. “Thank you, Ulsa. Will you be fine with both of us gone?”
“Sure, I will! Managed before you came, gonna manage after you’re gone.”
With one final smile, the innkeeper left Narra’s company and went to wash dishes and clean the dried spilled drinks from the most frequented tables.
After such a short time in Beria, Narra almost forgot about the kindness of her own people. She watched Ulsa but then the door opened.
A soldier came in, clothed in full armor decorated with Istra’s proud lion. Under his shoulder, he held a shining helmet with runes etched into the sides. He was older, his hair white as snow; cleary he was a higher ranking officer.
Narra was about to shout to tell him the tavern is closed, but before she could muster up the words, Ulsa ran and jumped him into the soldier’s arms.
“You made it!” she shouted; her eyes lit up.
The soldier spun where he stood with Ulsa in his arms. “I made a promise, didn’t I?” he replied loudly with the most beautiful to hear dialect, one of Istra, Narra’s own.
They sat down at the closest table, not paying mind to Narra staring at them. “Let me just clean—.” With a flick of his fingers, the soldier cleaned their table. “You! Should you be using your power like this?” She laughed.
“It’s fine as long as you don’t tell anyone,” he said with a playful wink. “Wouldn’t want to see me behind metal bars, would you now?”
“Maybe I would.”
They laughed, their jokes having no end. Narra wondered who the soldier was to Ulsa, but the kissing that followed their jokes gave it away. Taking it as her cue to leave, she finished her drink and left.
As she slowly walked up the stairs, an idea popped into her head. A story worth telling, a soldier’s life. There was no better story. What she tried to do for Oren, give her life for his if it came to it, it was the sworn duty of an imperial soldier.
She would sign up for the military academy in Istra! If lucky, she could make it into the inquisition, the elite spellcasters.
The two kissing lovebirds slipping her mind entirely she now rushed up the stairs, excited for both her and Oren to leave, but before they would, she’d still want one thing from him.
When Narra came back, Oren was just about getting ready, putting on a soft jacket they bought just a few days ago. He turned and was about to greet her but then froze and just smiled. Their eyes met, and seconds passed, yet the smile went nowhere.
“Why are you smiling?” she finally asked.
He chuckled. “You are. I did not expect that.” With a look to his feet, he sighed. “I’m glad you are smiling.”
“I figured it out,” she announced, not letting go of her smile. “You can search for Efri, and I want to help you, but I understand, I cannot do that. What I decided to is to join the military academy in Istra. I will work to become an inquisitor. Then I’ll be able to help you!”
“Inquisitor? How have I not heard of them before?”
“They’re the elite soldiers, spellcasters, it doesn’t matter, the point is I would be able to go and help you. Sure it may be some time before that happens, but if you don’t find her until then, we can work together and get her home.”
“Sounds like a deal!”
“Promise you won’t send me away.”
“I promise,” Oren said with a widening smile. “Promise you’ll be careful.”
“Promise!”
They shook their hands repeating their promises. Narra then pulled him in and gave him one more hug. Whenever she did Oren was blushing, embarrassed even but she didn’t care; he had to get used to being a proper imperial regardless.
With no time to spare and both excited for their upcoming venture, they set out from Natind. Bid Ulsa and her husband a farewell, and with speed, walked out of the small town, making sure to avoid the soldiers’ eyes.
They split the coin purse Narra was given by Aelir in half and left most of the silvers they made on Ulsa’s table with the hope she’ll hire some decent help and finally rest.
On the way from the small town, they headed to Istra. After going through the edge of a forest, they’d arrive at a crossing where the old road meets the imperial road.
While chatting and debating their own futures and adding more to their promises, Oren promising to visit Narra if he finds Efri before she can join him, a light reflecting off something shiny hit their eyes from tall grass by a thick broken tree.
They could not resist. Bot
h ran in, moving the grass with their legs, to uncover what it was. Once they were blinded no longer, they saw a metal pole. Long about as Narra’s arm and decorated with runes and various gems.
“Vanquisher,” she whispered under her breath and leaned to touch it. “This is a piece of prince Morael’s legendary spear.” Often she wished to lay her eyes on it, but she has never gotten a chance. What she saw looked not at all as she expected.
“Tell you what,” uttered Oren, “let’s leave it here and go. Best we don’t touch it, he can find it on his own. With his spells, he can appear here in a blink of an eye and grab it.”
“I wished not to believe it. When prince Morael was ten summers old, he was a sword by his father. Dawnbreaker, they called it. Yet the child prince created a weapon of his own, this spear.
“The Emperor challenged him to a duel to prove his little spear weak. As the two blades touched, one forged and created by the Emperor of Sesteria himself, the sword shattered. This weapon was impossible, and something broke it.”
Before Oren could retort, the shards of the broken blade, scattered all around the forest began to shine with eye-piercing light.
They ran, just as she said, but from beyond them, they heard sounds of feet hitting the dry branches. Someone, something was behind them.
Oren stopped dead in his tracks and unsheath the verdant blade, ready for a fight.
Whatever words he was about to say were vapor as he saw the horror that was before them. Creatures of pure light, their skin gray as the Vi Dera’s ashen hair and their eyes glistening with crimson-gold light, their pupils shattered.
They resembled humans. While taller, it was their fingers that gave it away. Longer, more a set of five claws than a hand, but it was fingers, the bone stretched out of the body itself and sharpened.
All over their body were scars glowing with scarlet. Their skin shattered like their eyes. Their back, the most disgusting sight, from it clawed its way their very spine made of thick and robust bone.
Then they spoke, tried to talk at least. In their open mouths was no tongue, but several rows of sharp teeth. Whatever they wished to say, neither Narra nor Oren could understand. They tried, tears coming from their shattered eyes.
When it was plain, they did not understand the creatures attacked with their absurdly long arms. It hit Narra, and she was thrown far back. Oren seemed to have parried their strike.
The creature screamed, its cries piercing Narra’s ears, but Oren did not even flinch. He struck its neck, and in a flash of light, it became dust.
One ran to Narra, and she tried to attack herself, wielding an ordinary sword made of pristine steel. It did nothing. As it hit the creature’s skin, it rang as if it was parried by another blade. One strike after the other confirmed their skin was impenetrable.
Her attack foiled she tried to run, but the creature could follow with inhuman speed. Seeing an opening, she attacked its neck, but as before, the sword rang and did nothing. Her entire body shook because of the vibration sent by the blade. Just then, the creature grabbed her neck.
It lifted her up, depriving her of air. With a shriek, it opened its mouth, revealing the many sets of sharp teeth and a wide-open neck.
To her luck, Oren killed the second monster and then rushed to her, driving his sword through the one holding her. Yet as his sword pierced where its heart should be and the light began to shine something, a memory entered her mind.
It flashed before her eyes, a memory that did not belong to her. A man, not old, not young, father of two. He walked through the forest and grabbed the handle of the spear.
With tears, Narra looked to Oren. “They were people,” she uttered. “Run.”
Run they did as fast as they could. Oren wouldn’t let go of his sword’s hilt, ready to defend them from the creatures, the corrupted humans.
Even with the forest far behind their backs, they continued running, both still shaken by what they saw. Memories of the poor man still on Narra’s mind.
Only after reaching the crossroads and their feet hitting the proper road, they allowed themselves some rest.
“What kind of magic was that?” Oren shouted at her.
“I don’t know. We were never taught of this, magic shouldn’t be able to do something like, not on its own.”
They calmed down eventually, after letting enough time pass.
Narra was in a strange way glad, for it meant a few more moments they spend together. For a while, they debated just what those creatures were, but neither could come up with an answer and all it was, was a meaningless argument.
“Not a word,” they promised each other to keep what they saw a secret to all. Narra wished to mention it, to report it in Istra, but Oren was right. A madwoman they’d call her, the only person she would ever tell was prince Aelir but she didn’t share that little exception with Oren.
Finally, the moment came, he was to set out east towards Tristicia and Narra north to Istra. “Any last words?” Narra said.
“We’ll see each other again. I’m not one for goodbyes.”
“Neither am I,” she whispered softly, “good luck. Hope you and Efri find each other, and all goes back to normal.” Poorly she hid her jealous tone. Efri and Oren had something she yearned for since forever, something true, without lies. “Come visit me if you, you know, find her. I would like to meet you.”
Oren made a step closer, smiling, his cheeks red. “Thank you,” he whispered, looking to the ground. “Goodbyes are a bitch, aren’t they?” They laughed. “What I am trying to say is that you were the unlikeliest person to ever help me, but here we are. I am forever grateful.”
“Will you remember?” Confused he raised his eyebrows. “All of this. What we did, our friendship.”
“Of course, I will. There won’t come a day when I forget about our time together. You are my friend.”
With a smile, she leaned closer. “Goodbye, friend.” She forced her lips on his. Shocked, Oren almost stumbled back.
Narra’s heart beat faster than ever before, even the monsters she feared less. All her fears went away as Oren gently touched her arm and leaned down.
Whether it was the feeling of coming loss or true love, Narra felt something for Oren. They have known each other for such a short time yet it felt as if they met many long years ago.
Light's Final Lament
“Your Majesty, I must protest,” argued Arter, the seasoned imperial commander. “We should exercise as much restraint when dealing with the Berian threat, as possible. It would be inadvisable to bring down the walls during the first assault. I propose we lure them out, show them we cannot be even harmed.”
“Commander,” Morael said, frustrated. Hearing Arter beg, for the third time that day, made was getting on his nerves. “The sooner and quicker we are done with this, the better. This is not a conquest, this is us responding to a rebellion.”
The commander sighed. “There is a reason your father forbade the inquisition to take the city on the first day of the way.”
“I’m not my father!” Morael snapped and the wood creaked as he leaned on the table before him. “Must I remind you that last time half of Beria was killed.”
The commander sighed and walked closer to the prince. “That was a treasonous act of Vikar Ka Ner. Not of the soldiers.”
“It had a reason, one you refuse to acknowledge as it seems. The farms were destroyed, burned to crisp. Livestock killed and farmers’ crops ruined. If magic were used such devastation could have been prevented and lord Vikar’s actions would not be necessary.” He looked at the old man. “I would also suggest you exercise caution when speaking of an imperial archon. Do not be mistaken, commander, it is your words that border treason at this very moment.”
With a shrug, the commander turned his back and headed for the door. “Send me your commands!” he shouted. “I’ll follow them like I must.” He grabbed the handle but screamed in pain.
“I believe I did not give you permission to leave,” s
houted Morael, his voice echoing across the small chamber. “Disrespect me again, and I will have you replaced.”
Angry commander Arter returned to the table. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty. I overstepped.” He bowed.
Morael smiled, seeing his balding head brought low but then returned his attention to the map of the Berian region. “The peninsula is small,” he said. “An all-out attack will deal with this overnight, but unlike before, we will not leave the city to its own devices.”
“I do not understand,” whispered the commander. “Do you wish to remain within the city for long?”
“No. Beria will become a region of the empire with all the privileges that come with it. Including the appointment of an archon. Yet the city will be reformed just like the cities conquered during the imperial wars of expansion. People will be moved to all corners of the nation, they will retain no right to call themselves Berian.” He smiled looking at the map. “As we can get a city guard established, I believe Istra has a surplus, we can leave. I already informed lord Vikar.”
Arter shook his head. “Taking the city is one thing, Your Majesty, but by far, the most difficult task will be weeding out the rebels. If we are to move people out and in, we must make sure a rebel is not one of them.”
“Agreed. That will be our task when we take the city. I believe your men are more than capable.”
“They are.” The commander sighed. “Your Majesty, may I have a question?” Morael gestured with his hand telling him to speak. “In your report after you retrieved lord Vikar, you say that the powerful enemy was found in the rebel’s hideout. Is that right?”
Morael could not admit so, but A’stri’s existence almost entirely slipped his mind. Whenever he thought of her the pain he felt during their torture returned. “It is.”
“How do we know that an enemy of equal power is not in the city?” Arter looked at the map. “Our forces could suffer heavy losses if under a magical attack. Beria, as you surely know, used to be a castle back when it was first built. The walls are strong and easily defended. A magical opponent within the city could pose a great threat.”
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