No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  Eldowyn’s eyes narrow. “Since when do you believe in second chances?”

  Her eyes are angry, and she walks past him, her shoulder brushing his. “Since I was given one.”

  He watches as she walks into Hillstone and shuts the door behind her. He should have known this would happen. They never could get anywhere without fighting.

  Sauriel—her name means defiant. But somehow, she’s content to remain in her ways. She’ll fight before it gets too personal. If she’s uncomfortable, you’ll know because she’ll punch you. Lucky for Eldowyn, some part of her cares about him, so she hasn’t punched him in the Fourth Age yet.

  The Third Age was a different story.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next morning, Brega gathered them back around the round table, everyone present, ready to deliberate about what they’re going to do. The Idies fiasco was a setback, one she hadn’t prepared for or was in control of. But she has since gathered herself and is once again in control of the meeting.

  “I know last night was a shock to everyone. But we must push ahead if we are to get anywhere with this meeting. Who completely opposes attacking Revera’s army?”

  “I do,” Neodyn says. “How will we know if she’ll ever meet us on the battlefield?”

  “They always do.”

  They look at Idies, his knowledge not surprising but still shocking from his lips.

  Idies continues, “The other side will always meet you in battle. It may be an ambush, they may have another plan, but they won’t let a chance to annihilate an entire army go to waste. By attacking, you are setting yourself up to be attacked, but you are also prepared for it.” He stands, looking at the map of Mortal spread over the table. “Where is the spot that will get her attention?”

  “Nomarah,” Aradon suggests, arms folded over his chest. “The heir of Idies marching with an army behind him over Nomarian soil? She won’t miss that.”

  “Then Nomarah should be where the battle is,” Idies states, completely focused as if he had never tried to kill a man last night. “I suggest near the ruins, it’ll give the army some cover.”

  “It will also give the Kahzacorians cover,” Neodyn comments.

  “Yes, but if we take the ruins, then we’ll also have an escape through the mountain and into Eron.”

  “We?” Neodyn glares at the king.

  Idies straightens. “You’re going to give up your best fighter?”

  “I think I deserve that title,” Sauriel says.

  Eldowyn huffs. “You would say that.”

  Sauriel ignores Eldowyn’s snide remark. “It’s true. I could take all of you.”

  “Can you take on three Besgeds?”

  Sauriel stands, facing Eldowyn. “I beat Roan, didn’t I? He might as well have been three Besgeds.”

  “He isn’t, though, and he was no Bowman.”

  “I’m not familiar with this Bowman.” She glances over at Aradon, then at Saine. “The big one in the cloak? Or the blond one?”

  “Big one,” says Eldowyn.

  Sauriel smirks. “I seem to remember I beat you too. And your brother.” She leans on the table. “Jehl, though. Her magic would have burned me—literally.”

  Eldowyn huffs. “Stop boasting, Sauriel.”

  “I thought that’s what elves are supposed to do? I’m just following in your footsteps.”

  “Enough!” Brega yells, and all their attention turns to her. “What is wrong with you people? Our world is ending and—”

  “Our world started ending eighteen years ago,” Neodyn starts. “Don’t make this more urgent than it is.”

  Brega slams her fist on the table. “This is urgent, Neodyn! This is the time when we decide if we roll over like dogs and let Revera win or we fight. Do we give up or keep fighting? If we give up, we don’t even deserve to have gotten this far. Nor see the futures we so dreamed of.”

  “My future is gone!” Neodyn yells, tears glistening in his eyes. “I lost my child! So I won’t apologize for not wanting to fight when I have nothing left to fight for.”

  “What about Lilyara? Won’t you fight for her?”

  Neodyn looks at her, shaking his head. “Lily’s gone. She’s lost to her grief. So I don’t lie or exaggerate when I say that I have no one left to fight for. My kingdom will go to ruin no matter what I choose. If I fight, maybe we’ll last a little longer, but my line will die and my kingdom with it.”

  “Don’t the people get to choose if your kingdom dies? A king is only a man with a crown, royal blood is still blood.”

  “A leader is who the people choose to follow,” Aradon explains. “Blood doesn’t make a king. Children don’t make a legacy. Your kingdom will live on without you, Neodyn. Or are you so selfish, you’ll kill it, so it doesn’t get the chance to forget you?”

  Neodyn clenches his fists. “Idies died. Nomarah fell to ruin.”

  “But I’m putting it back together again! And I wasn’t the first heir to try. Tregan built an army, but he sacrificed it to save the Tanea. Roan was a warlord, but he devoted his army to taking back Nomarah. Rana tried to take over the Red Warriors, but they killed her. They all failed, and maybe I will too. But I’m going to make sure I fail fighting, because that’s something I can be proud of. At least I will be able to look my father in the eyes and tell him I tried. So, yes. When Idies died, Nomarah fell into chaos. But in the First Age, the people were so divided. Hadore remains strong, it can survive if you let it.”

  Neodyn’s silent. He never let his tears fall, and that’s something Brega can admire. The Hadorian king slumps down into a chair, silent, but seems content to listen.

  Brega takes a breath. “Why don’t we all take a seat?”

  They do as instructed, and she finds herself facing all the monarchs left of the Five Kingdoms. Their generals are hard-faced and strong, but they remain silent throughout the talks. The only one missing is Awyn.

  The door to Hillstone opens and they all look to the light as two figures stand there. One is a scarred, strongly-built woman with short black hair and richly tanned skin, mid-height, dressed in armor that bears the mark of Eron, a white eye painted on a red background on its breast. Her eyes are hard, her face the same. The other figure has dark Trad skin. His hair is back, done in thick, rope-like locks. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, no tattoos but his ears are decorated with many jewels, a bejeweled ring hanging from his nose. His beard is entwined with rich-looking beads and gems.

  Her letters worked.

  Brega stands, walking over to the visitors. “General Devik. Emperor Sufek.” She bows her head in respect, but the others around the table immediately draw their weapons, the sound of metal slipping through scabbards ringing in the air. “Welcome.”

  “Brega, what is going on?” Adriel questions.

  “Everyone, this is General Mala Devik of the Eronian army—”

  “A country of drunks, yeah, we know,” Neodyn insults.

  “And this is Emperor Sufek of Terandore…” her voice trails off when she sees Aradon, Eldowyn, and the dwarf stiffen. Hagard hides behind the elf—consciously, she isn’t sure—and Aradon flexes his muscles, clearly ready for a fight. Even Master Sidah seems on edge.

  “We’ve come to talk,” the Emperor’s thick accent doesn’t distract from his rotten teeth. “We’re interested in the possibility of fighting.”

  “Are Terandore and Eron allies now?” Sauriel asks, her voice on edge but it could be a genuine question.

  “We have an agreement,” Devik says, voice neutral. “An agreement that is easily broken, however, so know that we come here willing to sacrifice our countries’ peace.”

  “You know no peace,” Neodyn spits. “You’re a land of whores, drunks, and criminals, and you’re child-eating cannibals.”

  “Drunks know peace better than anyone,” Devik says, voice still unmoved. “And the Trads believe they are sending souls to peace, so perhaps even cannibals know more of peace than you.”

  Neodyn snarls, but
it is Adriel who steps forward. “How do we know if we can trust you? The Five Kingdoms are broken, vulnerable. How do we know you won’t attack us?”

  “Because Revera may be targeting you, but only for the moment. She will want a clean slate to chip at and we are next in line. We are part of Mortal too. And soon, the entire continent will be under attack. After, who knows. She could destroy the entire world.” Devik grips her sword’s handle. “Maybe she already has.”

  “Revera’s plan extends to the whole of Ardon, yes,” Eldowyn starts. “But she’ll finish us off first. She has many enemies she wants dead. If we stop her, the rest of the world can be safe, and we will find a way to live on.”

  “Brave words, elf,” Sufek states. “But can you back them up?”

  “Fighting is a risk, yes. It always is. But if we all come together, we stand a chance.” He looks to Brega. “Have you calculated how many troops we would have, My Lady?”

  “Twenty-seven thousand, eighty-three exactly.” She looks at them, exhaling. “Including those in this room.”

  Saine nods. “Then we would stand a very good chance. I was there in Rohea, when the battle was raging. The Kahzacorians have been cut in half at least. Their numbers are nowhere near ours.”

  “And if she has another army?”

  They all look at Neodyn.

  His expression is doubtful. “She’s Revera.”

  “Let us deal with what we know,” Brega starts. “We can figure out the rest later.”

  “There will be no later if we go into this haphazardly! We can’t just go into battle with half the information.”

  “We have all the information that is available to us.”

  “And if that’s not enough?” he challenges her.

  “Then we figure it out.”

  “Brega! We’re going to die!”

  “We’re already dying, Neodyn!” Brega yells. “You said yourself, you have nothing to live for. If that’s true, why do you even care whether or not you die?”

  “Because I’m not suicidal.”

  “Soldiers are suicidal by definition, Neodyn. They go into a war with weapons in their hands knowing there’s a good chance they won’t come back. Are you a soldier or a coward?”

  Neodyn storms over to her. “Don’t call me a coward!”

  “Then don’t act like one,” Brega spits through clenched teeth. She turns to the others. “Are we cowards? Are we going to let our world burn?”

  “I’m not.”

  The unfamiliar voice sends them all turning toward the door once again. Brega’s eyes narrow, not knowing who the dark-skinned man on the threshold is.

  “And you are?” General Devik questions.

  “He’s one of mine,” Sufek answers, but his tone indicates he wasn’t expecting the visitor.

  Brega glares at him. “What do you mean, ‘one of yours’?”

  “His name is Breel. He was one of the best soldiers I’ve ever trained.” Sufek steps toward him. “He’s a traitor now.”

  “And I will regret that for the rest of my life,” the man says. “But I have inside information you’ll need to know if you want to defeat Revera.”

  “How did you come across this information?” Brega asks suspiciously.

  “Because I’m a Knight of Kahzacore.”

  The guards don’t hesitate to grab hold of the traitor.

  Brega approaches him, looking him up and down. “You’ll die if you don’t tell the truth.”

  “I’d rather die a liar than one of Revera’s dogs.”

  Brega’s brow rises. Good answer.

  Kepp stares at the ceiling, tracing the tendrils of silver and gray through the black marble. He isn’t sure if recreating Nethess to look like Marduth was Revera’s intention, but sometimes he can’t even tell which one he’s in until he looks outside. Even though Nethess was destroyed, they both feel the same. Cold. Dark. World-ending.

  All the good feelings.

  He feels Nakelle shift in her sleep, his arm cradling her. Kepp once asked himself if he loved Kera. When he was in the hole with Saine, in Asgoreth—he often pondered it. Kera was fun, but he never loved her.

  But even now, he finds himself asking the same question. Does he love Nakelle? Since when did that become the biggest question in his life? It used to be what Revera’s plan was. He knows a little bit of it, more than anyone. Her reasons are still unclear, Karak knows about those. She lived in Marduth for centuries.

  She isn’t the monster everyone think she is. Neither is he. Karak definitely is, but Revera had purpose, and Kepp found his own in her plan. Sometimes, when the pain of living is just too great, death seems the only option. But they can’t die yet. Not until they’ve succeeded in their mission, or else dying will be meaningless.

  Looking over at Nakelle, she’s turned away from him, her hair loose and tickling his skin. Brushing a hand through it, he gently runs his fingers over her arm, propping himself up on his elbow. The movement wakes her, and she turns over, her gray eyes opening, lined with dark lashes.

  “Hi,” she breathes.

  He doesn’t know if he loves her, but he does like the sight of her.

  “Hi.” He moves her in closer, needing to feel another presence. The sleeves of her nightclothes brush against him as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Did you sleep well, Kell?”

  “Well enough. This air is hard to breathe.”

  “Hopefully we won’t be breathing it for much longer. I think Revera is going to talk to Karak about organizing the troops.”

  “Finally. The sooner this is over, the better.” She snuggles into her pillow. “I’m going back to sleep.”

  “All right.” He kisses her forehead and rolls out of bed. Pulling on his shirt, he shuts the door behind him as he walks into the main room, the morning of Kahzacore cold and dim. He gasps when he sees Karak sitting on his throne, a ghost in the shadows. He drinks from a goblet, making Kepp shudder from what is potentially in the cup.

  “Sleep well?” Karak asks, voice tinny from under the cup.

  “Your beasts are too loud.”

  Karak looks at the cup, licking his lips. “It’s disgusting, you know.” He gazes on him darkly. “Your kin’s blood.”

  Kepp huffs, his stomach turning. He walks to the table, grabbing a piece of bread. “How do you always have fresh food in a place like this?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  Kepp sighs, taking a bite of the bread. “Now I don’t.” His eyes shut and teeth clench as he hears the monstrous roar of Gotham above. “Kill that thing already.”

  “Gotham still has purpose left.”

  “Why are you so protective of a dragon?”

  Karak’s chin lifts. “He’s the only thing left of my homeland. Besides, do you want the father of your sister to die?”

  Kepp takes another bite of bread. “I don’t care about them.”

  “Keep lying to yourself, maybe it will be true.”

  “Who says it isn’t?”

  “I can read souls, when will you people remember that?” Karak snaps. “I can see the guilt that infests the darkness of your souls, little strips of gray cutting through. Many imperfections in what should be a perfect darkness, Kepp. You have sorrow and pain from your past, tendrils that curl and suffocate. Red anger that burns.” He smiles. “It’s assuring to know you did this to yourself. Revera just gave you a little push with the sword to your throat. ‘Choose me, Father. Choose me,’” he mocks. “He didn’t choose you, though. Do you know why?”

  “Because he didn’t love me.”

  “Wrong.”

  Kepp’s brow furrows. “What do you know? My parents hated me, they never loved me. It’s something I got used to but never over.”

  “Your parents loved you. Your grandparents loved you. But they knew who you were going to become, so why let themselves be hurt? Why not distance themselves from you? It would make the future less painful.”

  Kepp shakes his head. “What are you talking about?�
��

  “Elves are named by the Spirits, yes?”

  “Yeah, their names are influenced by who they will be.”

  “What does Kepp mean?”

  “I never asked.”

  Karak stands. “You weren’t born Kepp.”

  He swallows. “You’re lying.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “Because you’re you!”

  “Please, I only lie when I’m bored, and this is entertaining.” He smiles. “You were born Kelberan Starborn. Not Kepp. Your parents changed it because they didn’t want anyone finding out, only they and your grandparents knew.”

  Kepp leans against the table, shock overcoming him. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m sure Revera will tell me, though.”

  Kepp looks up at him, anger bubbling. “Was I ever to be told?”

  Karak shrugs. “How am I supposed to know?”

  “It means doomed.”

  They both turn to the door as Revera walks in, her heels clicking on the floor, eyes sharp.

  “What did you say?” Karak asks.

  Revera looks at him. “Kelberan means doomed.”

  Karak’s eyes widen, and Kepp’s caution intensifies. “What do you mean by that?”

  Karak turns to him. “It means you’re the one I have to kill.”

  Kepp backs away, and from the corner of his eye he sees Revera lift her hand, and Karak contort.

  “Not so fast, Lieutenant.” She grips her fist, and Karak chokes. “I can’t have you killing my nephew, now can I? Besides, Crozacar did warn you what would happen if you disobeyed me.”

  “I. Obey. No one,” Karak squeezes out.

  Revera smiles. “That may be true.” Her head tilts as she walks in front of Karak.

  Karak’s eyes begin to shine.

  “You will, however, obey me.”

  Karak’s body is on fire. He screams, the pain unimaginable. Revera’s power grips every inch of his body and soul. She lifts him off the ground, his stability leaving him. He closes his eyes. Glass crawls through his veins, fiery acid under his skin. How to describe this pain? He’s being filleted from the inside out, layer by layer, bone by bone. The knife cuts and doesn’t stop. The hammer pounds but doesn’t relent. The fire burns and devours, it doesn’t extinguish. It’s only a matter of time before it reaches his soul.