by Jeff Gunzel
The ancient book was a relic. A firsthand account of how civilization had changed throughout the centuries. But more importantly, how it remained the same. There were always general rules for leadership that stood the test of time, many of which the book outlined in excruciating detail. This fact had little to do with any particular city, race of people, or time in history. Ilirra found the book to be invaluable, and buried her nose in it whenever time permitted.
Azek stood near the frosted glass windows, now and then taking a swipe at the golden cord holding back the red curtains. Its tassels quivered and danced with each irritated slap. Although he couldn’t see through the clouded glass, the birds just outside the window were evident. They sang and chirped, attempting to remind the world that spring was here. “Remind me to order one of the servants to remove that dreadful nest,” he grumbled.
Ilirra ignored him, face still buried in her book. What was it to him if the birds wanted to sing? There were far bigger problems that needed to be dealt with. Reading “The People’s Voice” normally calmed her in times like these, helped her regain focus, but not this time. Once Ilirra realized she was reading the same sentence over and over again, she pulled herself away. She couldn’t concentrate on such a thing right now.
Frustrated, she almost slammed the book shut, but quickly caught herself. Regardless of my mood, such a treasure must not be treated so poorly. Ilirra carefully closed the ancient book. It crackled and popped, sounding as if it were being torn in half. She stood, the large book tucked under one arm, and marched it over to one of the four black bookshelves. After hoisting it up, aided by the use of her knee, she slid it back into place.
“Shouldn’t they have been here by now?” Azek mumbled, still gazing out a window he could not see through. He was good at a great many things, but hiding his emotions was not one of them. The man was clearly in a foul mood.
“If they haven’t learned anything yet, what difference does their presence make?” Ilirra shot back. Azek grumbled something incoherent then went back to studying the window. Ilirra went on, “I didn’t summon them to the war room so I could spend time with old friends. I need information, not company. I can’t plan our next move until I’m certain of what the crytons are up to. Perhaps you take war lightly, but I certainly don’t.”
Azek quickly turned from the window. “You of all people...” he said accusingly. “Of all things I take lightly, war is not one of them. You know that! It’s just that—” He grimaced, then waved at her dismissively, and returned to his window.
“It’s just what? Azek, I request that you speak freely,” said the Queen. Her voice was soft and calm, not offended in any manner.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just on edge, and I don’t mean to speak ill of our friends. I know they’re trying their best, and will arrive once they have the information we seek. I’m just afraid, if we continue to stall, our best will no longer be enough.”
Ilirra’s eyebrows rose. “And what do you mean by that?”
He looked up towards the ceiling, eyes going out of focus. “I remember when we fought side by side with the crytons. Shantis brought so few to aid us that fateful day. Well, that small number of soldiers easily turned the tide for us. The Dronin didn’t know what hit them. They were magnificent in battle; a marvel to watch.” He sighed, his gaze falling on the Queen. Was that fear in his eyes? “If they have truly betrayed us, and we are up against hundreds—”
“It will be a slaughter,” said Ilirra flatly, her expression calm as always.
“All I’m saying is that we need to know what we’re up against sooner rather than later. If I need to start making war preparations, I need to start now.”
Ilirra raised her hands, signaling for Azek to calm down. “I need to find out what Berkeni and Addel have discovered. And until then, I will make no brash decisions without—”
The door pushed back slowly. Berkeni walked in, head low, dragging his feet. Addel appeared right behind him, looking no happier. He did not look eager to make eye contact with either of them. “My lady,” he said softly with a nod. “I’ve done as you asked. It appears that,” he cleared his throat, “I’m afraid things have gotten complicated.”
“We don’t have time for stalling,” said Ilirra, hands on hips. “Just tell me the situation as plainly as you can.”
His head slinked down further. “There is no mistake. The crytons march on us as we speak,” he said, voice so soft it was difficult to hear him. “I estimate their numbers to be around two hundred or so. Obviously, the total number of their village is much higher, but the others are unaccounted for. I have been unable to locate the missing crytons, Shantis included.”
“Two hundred is more than enough to wipe us out,” said Azek, thumping his head back against the wall. His cheeks puffed as he blew out a deep breath, then shoved himself away from the wall. “I will begin preparations immediately.” He stalked quickly towards the door.
“I gave no such order,” said Ilirra. Everyone turned to her, eyes wide with surprise. “Two hundred is more than enough to wipe us out. Did you not just say that?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Shall we prepare for a war we cannot win? Would you have me sacrifice every soldier we have, simply to buy an extra day or two?”
“But, my lady,” said Addel, stepping up beside Berkeni. “The people... It is your duty, our duty, to defend these walls. Nobody wants to be sacrificed, but war marches to our doorstep. Do you propose we do nothing?” she accused boldly.
“Nor was that my order,” Ilirra’s green eyes blazed with intensity. Addel quickly wilted under that fiery gaze. “I have no intention of letting hundreds, maybe thousands die for nothing.” Her eyes flickered towards the bookshelf briefly. The tutoring of that book had served her well over the years, and its knowledge would serve her once more. “Much has been written by those who have served before me. Wisdom attained through centuries of experience, rather than ego. I now call upon those wise teachings.”
Ilirra cleared her throat. Her eyes gazed upwards as if she were thinking back to something. “In times of war, it has been proven throughout the centuries that victory can only be achieved by one of two separate means: through strength of arms, or through diplomacy. Those who triumph by strategy of incursion will live to fight another day. But when diplomacy is applied to its full potential, the victor will thrive and prosper, most likely expanding their kingdom without paying with precious lives.”
Ilirra lowered her eyes, taking in the solemn faces around the room. “We may possibly be the only exception to those rules in Taron’s storied history, for we do not have a first option. Taron cannot win this war through strength of arms. Diplomacy is our first and only option.” She looked to Berkeni. “I need you to make a doorway for me. I will have words with their commander...face to face.”
“Are you mad?” shrieked Azek, storming up to her. “Then I’m coming with you. You can’t go alone.”
“I can and I will,” she said softly, brushing him aside, moving towards the door. “The two of you have one hour.” She touched Berkeni and Addel each on the shoulder. “Best you get started right away.”
“Are you trying to die?” barked Azek. Berkeni and Addel took the hint, quickly heading for the door. There was much work to do, and they wanted no part of the ensuing argument. “You would walk right into their waiting hands? That’s what they want!”
“Then they shall have it,” she said, her voice calm and controlled.
“You don’t have to do this.” The always in control captain began to lose his composure. His heartbeat quickened, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. This beautiful, strong woman who he cared about deeply was about to commit suicide. He had to do something. “We can still make a stand. I say, let them come.” His breaths came short and fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. “You underestimate my men. We can win… Yes, we can—”
She walked back and placed a hand softly on his cheek. His incessant babbling s
topped, voice trailing off as he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. So in control she was, such a queen in every way. “Quiet yourself. You’re a stronger man than this,” she said softly. “You and I both know there is no other way. I will not have the blood of thousands resting on my crown.” She turned away.
“They already have the advantage,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with overwhelming emotion. “There is no reason for them to negotiate. They-They will kill you. Or worse.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “A small price to pay for the lives of thousands. Wouldn’t you agree?” She left without waiting for a response.
* * *
There came a light rap at the door. Berkeni winced at the sound. “I’ve got it,” said Addel quietly. She opened the door a crack, then gasped. She flung it open before stepping back.
Ilirra entered, wearing the most beautiful set of armor Addel had ever seen. The Queen seemed to glow in her white link chainmail, running down her front like the scales of a reptile, caressing her arms like a fine silk dress. It was a gleaming, polished white, with an even brighter yellow star branded on the chest. She wore a golden helm with small metal wings on either side. A long nose guard ran down her face. It held the likeness of a bird’s beak.
At her side hung a black leather sheath, housing her white-bladed sword, the golden pommel’s crossbar encrusted with green emeralds. The very end of the pommel was shaped like a dove’s head, the beak hooking downward. “Is everything ready?” asked Ilirra, voice hard as steel.
“Y-Yes, my lady,” said Addel, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. Never had she seen such an exquisite set. Such striking armor must have come from the world of dreams. It belonged on display, behind thick glass, not worn into battle. “We have their exact location and can begin whenever you’re ready. But Berkeni and I can only hold it open for a few moments. After that,” she sighed sadly, the gravity of the situation really sinking in, “the doorway will close. We will have no way of bringing you back.”
“Won’t you please reconsider, my lady?” Berkeni pleaded. “Surely there must be another way.”
“Alright then, I’ve reconsidered,” said Ilirra, hands suddenly folded across her chest. Berkeni stared at her with bewilderment. “I’ve decided to leave the people of Taron to their fate. Let our outmatched army hold out as long as they can before fleeing for their lives. Who knows, perhaps even a few loyalists may fight to the death.” The corner of her lip turned up in a partial smile.
Berkeni seemed to deflate. He wilted where he stood, yet still managed to return a partial smile. “I understand, my lady. You must do your duty, and I must do mine.” He walked near the far wall, placing his hands against it. Addel moved to the other side, mirroring his pose. “Be careful, my lady,” he whispered, far too softly for anyone to hear.
After a few nonsensical mutterings from each of the mystics, the wall itself began to crackle with energy. A staticky golden light shimmered across the paint before taking the shape of a circle. With her head high and jaw set, Ilirra stepped through.
The people of Taron went about their business like any other day. Blacksmiths hammered away at iron ingots, slowly working their magic while blocks of metal gradually transformed into brilliant blades. Tavern owners rolled large barrels of ale from flatbed wagons, stocking up for another evening that promised more thirsty customers. Oil merchants, mercers, and spicers all went about their business as usual.
The way they saw it, life was simply promised to them. Nothing could ever harm this great city, or threaten its existence. None but a handful knew what the Queen had risked to save her people. The common citizen needn’t be bothered with such disturbing knowledge. They went to work every day. That was enough. Let true sacrifices fall on the shoulders of others, thus leaving them alone. Let someone else pay for the price of freedom.
Such is the way of being a silent leader, hidden in the shadows so as not to burden anyone. Such is the way of heroes...
* * *
Filista rode her horse out in front, allowing for a generous distance between herself and the other crytons. Her black mount, large and muscular with big blue eyes akin to an insect rather than a horse, whinnied before snorting in protest. It didn’t seem to like feeling so exposed, so out in the open compared to the tight formation behind them, most of who were on foot.
But her mount’s unjustified fears were the least of her concerns. This was to be her moment of glory. The very moment in time when history was rewritten. And this time, the humans would be the ones on the losing side. But their roles wouldn’t be completely reversed. She had no intention of sending the humans into hiding, the way the crytons had been forced to do. No, she thought to herself. There must not be any future opportunities for revenge. They cannot be allowed to regroup years from now. They must be watched at all times.
As always, the astute woman’s forward thinking was ten steps ahead. The humans would be no match for her forces, that much was clear. Once the crytons linked, grouping their energy circles, their victory would be a foregone conclusion. But was that really what she wanted? What good is a decimated kingdom filled with slaughtered humans? That would serve no purpose. I don’t want to crush Taron... I want to rule it!
She never intended to end their society, but rather absorb them. Let them go about their daily lives as always, but do it under cryton rule, under the watchful eyes of a superior race that would still allow the pathetic creatures a modest amount of freedom.
This was where the battle itself would be key. The loss of human life needed to be kept minimal in order to display some level of benevolence. They must fear us, respect us, and then ultimately, forget us. Within a years’ time they will feel as if they have always been under cryton rule. If there was one credit she could give humans, it was their versatility. They could easily adapt to a forced lifestyle, as had been proven by their multiple forms of government throughout the centuries.
Filista had to remember to slow down. With the details of her plan coming to life in her head, the excitement building in her bones, she had lost herself and gotten far ahead of the others. She decided it was best to stop altogether and let them catch up.
Suddenly, her horse reared up in a fit of terror, nearly throwing Filista to the ground. The air in front of them began to glimmer a golden yellow. The frightened horse stomped up and down on its front hooves several times before Filista finally regained control. Even then, it pranced sideways trying to get away from the eerie sight. Ilirra materialized through the golden doorway. It snapped shut behind her with a popping sound and a small burst of golden sparkles.
At first, Filista didn’t know what to do. The alarming sight had caught her completely caught off guard. The eerie light show had not been a subtle thing, and she immediately heard the rumble of running feet behind her. The sound of her troops coming brought some much-needed courage.
“I assume you are the commander here,” said Ilirra, staring right into the eyes of the mounted cryton before her. Although she didn’t understand her words, Filista had no doubt as to who this was.
The standoff ensued, their eyes locked in an unblinking stare, neither looking away. Even when a swarm of crytons scampered up to the duo, surrounding Ilirra in a flash with a circle of spearheads pressed against her neck, the Queen’s eyes remained locked on Filista, ignoring the immediate threat as if they weren’t even there.
Filista motioned to one of the men. He was very short by cryton standards, just under six feet, with not a single hair on his head. He scampered up and stood beside her, head low, awaiting his orders. But he already knew why she had summoned him. A researcher of sorts amongst their people, he had long studied the humans and was quite adapt at speaking their language. Filista spoke out, a guttural hissing language that always sounded angry. Ilirra didn’t think her tongue was capable of making those sounds, even if she ever learned their language.
The smaller cryton looked to Ilirra and repeated the words in common. “You are ei
ther mad or a fool. I expected more sense from a Queen.” His pronunciation was perfect, but the words came out shaky and unsure. A decent translator he was; a proficient public speaker...not so much.
Growing tired of the surrounding spears pointed at her throat, Ilirra unleashed her sword in a flash of white. In one fluid movement, she spun about with astonishing explosiveness; sheared spearheads flew up into the air. Completing her spin, she sheathed her glorious weapon, then dropped her arms to her side. Metal points rained down around her while she stood passively in a nonthreatening pose. The surrounding crytons leapt back, suddenly holding nothing but wooden shafts, their eyes barely able to comprehend what had just happened. Filista calmly raised a hand, stopping the others from advancing.
“I am neither,” said Ilirra, her voice ringing out sharp and clear in a stark contrast to the nervous man. “I am both,” she shrugged, eyebrows rising. “I am whatever the people need me to be.” The Queen burned with hatred in the company of this deceiver. The warrior within her stirred, pleading to make her presence known, begging to be released one last time so she could spill this traitor’s blood across the ground. With an effort, Ilirra suppressed the assassin within. Those days were over, and a queen must always carry herself with dignity, despite her dark urges.
The short man relayed the message then promptly received another. This choppy exchange would have to suffice as far as communications went. He took a deep breath then delivered, “I assume you’ve already figured out that resistance is futile. So perhaps you’ve come to beg for your life?”
The angry warrior stirred once again. Ilirra contained it by a hair. Of all the things she wanted to say, of all the traitorous accusations she should make on behalf of the people, one question burned on the tip of her tongue. One question required an immediate answer above all others. “What have you done to Shantis? Where is my friend and ally?”
Filista’s ever-present smirk faded. Would she never be rid of that blasted woman’s legacy? She grabbed the short man’s collar angrily even before he finished translating the question, then barked into his ear. He turned back, pale and visibly shaken. “The traitor you speak of is no longer among us. She has run off like a coward to live in the woods with the other rebels. To scavenge for food, competing with birds, squirrels, and all other lower life forms. Offend me again and your people will join her.”