She took one of his hands in her own and whispered, “When will he wake?”
“I do not know,” Tiberius replied. “What he conjured over the field was too great for someone so young. The best we can do is let him rest.”
After a moment, Tiberius removed his sword and propped on the wall next to the bed. His gloves he placed on the bedside table and moved to leave the room. Shayla bolted upright at once, unsure of what he intended to do.
“You would leave him!?” she blurted out.
Tiberius didn’t turn to meet her angry gaze. “There is nothing we can do but let him wake on his own. But there are people in this village that need our help now.”
She stared at his back, a quiet rage rising in her heart. “Go then, Ranger,” she said, at last, kneeling next to the boy again. “You may do as you wish, but I will not abandon his side.”
Tiberius knew himself well enough that sitting and waiting would drive him mad. He had to be in motion. He had to do something to make sense of all this evil that had been called down on these poor people. He took a deep breath, bowed his head, and departed the barracks.
Shayla did not bother to see him out, all her attention on the unmoving young boy in the bed. For the first time in her long life as a dragoon, she set aside her spear and held Michael’s hands tighter. She bowed her head, closed her eyes hard, and began to whisper a prayer for the young Mage.
“Kazduhl, lord and mightiest of all dragons, grant this boy your spirit and your mercy. Grant him the peace and strength to return from beyond to here again. Grant him your favor that he may nevermore lie in the twilight of this world but may walk in the sunlight of today all the days to come.”
Her lips began to tremble, and her eyes started to water. “Kazduhl, lord and last of the dragons grant this boy the fire of your spirit. Grant him the honor of living under your great wings. Grant him your protection and love,” she paused, unsure of how to finish her prayer until finally saying, “Bring him back to his friends.”
Outside the barracks, Tiberius surveyed the overwhelming destruction. The sun was now low in the horizon, signaling nightfall was close at hand. He turned to his rangers and said, “Constance, send word to the capital at once. Tell them all that has transpired today and that I personally request a contingent of rangers reinforce us at once.”
Constance nodded and sprinted to the nearest rookery to deliver Tiberius’s ill news back to the Imperial City. He then turned to the other men. “I need each of you to help whoever you can. All aid from your stores and your knowledge you will render. And be sure to get them all indoors before the sun sets.”
At his command, the rangers departed to retrieve whatever medical supplies they had and begin helping the people of the village. For himself, Tiberius returned to the inn. He stood just outside the door, breathing in the musty smell of death that emanated from within. In his rush to secure a place for Michael, Tiberius had not truly taken in the horrors around him. Now he had to steel his mind and his soul for what was to come. He drew in a deep breath of stinging air and pushed the weak door open.
Inside the inn, he saw more people had arrived since he was there only minutes ago. The cries of suffering had quieted down, but the odor he had smelled outside was now overpowering his senses. A small image of the wounded men during the war flashed in his mind before he quickly pushed it away. Now wasn’t the time to think on such dark and painful memories. Now was the time to get to work.
Unsure of where to begin amongst the scared and dead people, he walked around the room in a daze. None of the villagers made eye contact with the ranger, all either busy with their own work or in a trance-like state of shock. The smells of burning meat and the whimpering of children seemed to fill every corner of the wooden inn. Near the back, his eyes fell on a group of children huddled in the corner.
He knelt beside them and asked, “Where are your parents, young ones?”
The oldest of them, a frightened blonde girl no more than twelve, slowly raised her hand and pointed off to a nearby table. He turned and followed her finger to see two unmoving bodies upon a massive dining table. They were almost unrecognizable from the burns that scorched their fair faces.
He turned to the scared children again, bowed his head, and said in a quiet voice, “I am sorry, children.” His eyes met theirs again. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re Tiberius, leader of the rangers,” the blond girl replied shakily.
“Aye that I am. And on my honor and the honor of my men and the emperor himself, these deeds will not go unpunished. I promise you.”
The girl didn’t move at his words, holding his gaze for a few solemn moments. “We care nothing of punishment, sir,” she replied at last. “We just want our parents back.”
Tiberius bowed his head again before standing. I can’t bring your parents back, little ones, he thought to himself. But the enemy who wrought this on you will taste my steel, nonetheless.
“Are you truly the ranger leader Tiberius?” another voice asked from behind him.
He turned to find the voice and saw a young woman, barely inside her twenties, tending to three older men, all with arrow wounds to their arms and legs. Her eyes were the bright blue of people common in this part of the country, with bright blond hair that almost appeared white. She was small, barely half his own height, but the way she held down the men writhing in pain on the table told him she was indeed a woman of the northern kingdom. Hearty and strong, fierce and loyal. She was the queen of her own little dominion, and all would bend their will to her in that place.
“I am,” the Ranger replied, moving to join her. “My men are out in the village, rendering whatever aid they can. What do you need me to do here?”
“My lord, I cannot ask you to help us,” she said, her northern accent thick and almost unintelligible. “You are an Imperial and much above us commoners. Your victory against our attackers is thanks enough.”
He studied her fair face, searching for why she felt as she did. He locked onto her fierce blue eyes and asked, “What is your name, daughter of the north?”
“Michelle, my lord. Michelle Bearborn,” she replied at once.
“My name is Tiberius,” he answered, kneeling to help the three men. “Not ‘lord’ or ‘master.’ Just Tiberius. And no one is above or below another in this empire, especially when our people require aid.”
“With all due respect, that is not the way in our home. The King of White has made it known time and again that we are inferior to your kind.”
Tiberius eyed the woman and his voice grew cold. “I care not for Forval’s misguided wisdom. I am here to help in any manner you require. Command me, daughter of White.”
She inspected his face probing for any lies in him, but finally, she nodded in acceptance of his aid. “I’ve torn the linen into bandages,” she said, waving her hand to a back room in the inn. “We don’t have much in the way of supplies around here for this many injured.”
“That’s smart thinking, Ms. Bearborn,” he replied. “I’ll set to work at once. Boil more water and find me some paste and wood.”
Michelle hurried off to refill the emptied water basin while Tiberius collected the bandages and other supplies. Together, they worked for hours on end, mending the broken and beaten villagers. Cuts and bruises were dressed, and broken bones set as best they could manage. A few more of the people continued to straggle in throughout the night, thanks to the ranger’s diligent efforts. That that didn’t require care took up arms with the rangers to watch the village overnight. The others were treated immediately by the two and with as much care that their tired bodies could muster.
It was just after ten that night when they had finally managed to treat all the people inside the inn. Tiberius sat at the bar, surveying the crowded, hot room. Many of them were fast asleep now; others continued staring blankly at the floor, contemplating the horrors that had transpired. These were good, decent folk, far away from the rest of their kingdom's politics and s
trife. Yet they were now drawn into a conflict they had no business in. And a conflict he himself didn’t quite understand. Yet.
Exhausted, Michelle plopped down into a seat next to him and laid her head on the bar. “I think that’s all of them, sir,” she said, shutting her eyes.
“Aye,” he replied. “You did good by these people, Ms. Bearborn. They owe you a great debt.”
She sat up and looked around the room. “These are my people, you know. Why would I let them suffer when I can help? More help than the master gave us.”
“That’s not true,” Tiberius said, rubbing his eyes. “He helped us repel the enemy before they could overrun this place. He was at the forefront of the battle.”
“Yes, he was. But where was he after when his people needed healing? You yourself were in the thick of fighting and are now here to help. Your rangers are still on duty keeping watch over our home. But our ‘master’ is nowhere to be found.”
Realization dawned on him. It had been several hours since the battle’s end, and he had not seen Rogers anywhere in the village. He mustered the strength to stand, and after fetching a cloak near the door, began marching through the dark cold. The moon shone down as he walked over the village's charred ruins and out into the field beyond. He trudged up the snow-covered hill, and still kneeling in the ground beyond was the Berserker. He appeared to have not moved for several hours and kept his chin down to his chest.
The Ranger stalked up behind the Berserker, not daring to alarm him lest the rage overcome him again. There was no telling the last time Master Rogers had felt the rage of the Father, nor if it would reappear again. When he got closer, he could make out tears frozen against the large man's cheeks. He stood over him, contemplating what to say. Even on his knees, his head still reached the bottom of Tiberius’s chest. Slowly, he reached out and placed his hand upon Rogers' shoulder.
“You know who I am?” he whispered to the behemoth of a man.
“You are the Ranger Commander Tiberius,” a rough voice replied. “You are a hero to the empire, my lord.”
“Aye,” Tiberius replied, kneeling to come face to face with the man. “I am Tiberius, commander of the Imperial Rangers. But do you know who I am?”
Rogers raised his head and stared hard at Tiberius’s own. “You carry the blade of our emperor. You fought the enemy unquestioningly. You brought the foreign warrior, and I’m assuming the Mage as well.”
A lump formed in his throat that he had to fight through to continue, “You called yourself Tiberius Alexander Axton before. You are the son of His Majesty, aren’t you?”
Tiberius nodded his head in reply. “Yes, son of Frijigzah. And while I am not emperor yet, I carry his sword and bare his burdens in the wide world. By chance, we arrived at your home tonight, and I am grateful that we did. Why do you sit in the snow amongst the dead enemy and not in the warm tavern with your people?”
Rogers bowed his head again. “I am ashamed, sir. I had abandoned the Father and his gifts to live a peaceful life in my homeland. I helped them build this village with my own two hands when I was but a boy. And like my father and grandfather, I tended to the people as they needed.”
“You have served them well, Master Rogers. Despite the horrors laid upon them, they remain strong in spirit.”
He looked at the Ranger again, renewed tears swelling in his eyes. “They know not of my past, nor of who I really am. What would they think of me now?”
“They will think greatly and fairly of you. They know you could not have prevented what happened to them but met the foe headlong in the field. It is by your power and your desire to protect them that they are alive tonight. Your people are up in the village, eager to see you. Come, walk with me.”
He stood and extended a hand to the giant man. Rogers grasped the Ranger’s small hand and stood, towering over Tiberius like a parent to a child. He studied Tiberius for a moment before nodding in agreement. They both turned and began the walk back to the village.
“What has brought you and your companions to my home, sir?” Rogers asked as they rounded the hilltop.
“We were on our way to the Ice Steps beyond your village. The emperor himself has sent us on a most dire mission that was to take us well into the Land Beyond. Your home was to be our last stop before we entered the unknown tundra ahead.”
“I see,” Rogers replied, surveying the ice-capped mountains silhouetted against the clear starry night. “Whatever your purpose is in those mountains, it had best be of great importance. No one in living memory has ventured beyond these borders to climb those peaks.”
“The dwarves did after the founding of the empire,” Tiberius said.
“Aye,” Rogers replied, looking down on the young Ranger at his side. “If you believe such tales. All I know is in my long life, I have seen many folks try and climb the steps to explore the peaks beyond. None have returned.”
“Maybe they found whatever it is they were looking for that compelled them to venture there. After the war, I heard rumors of many men turning to the north to live in peace and quiet.”
“We saw these men you speak of, my lord. When I was a boy, many men growing tired of the wars and battles that have long plagued our country would venture up the Ice Steps. And after the five-year war, well, could you blame them?”
No, I don’t blame them at all, the Ranger thought. But to abandon your homes to wallow in grief? What kind of man does this?
“Well, at any rate, I reckon our trip up the mountains will have to be postponed,” Tiberius conceded. “This attack by the king ---"
“The King did this!?” Rogers exclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks.
Tiberius turned and saw the great man’s chest rising and falling rapidly in the cold, dark night. He held up his hand and said, “Master Rogers! You will maintain your calm tonight, do you understand?”
Rogers closed his eyes and caught his breath. After a minute, he slowly opened them again and said, “I beg your pardon, Master Tiberius. It has been twenty years since I last felt the Father’s rage in me. My body isn’t used to it as it once was.”
Tiberius lowered his hand. “I know it must be difficult. The rage and the power the Father bestows is not something taken lightly. I pray you will not need to use it again.”
“Let me try again. How do you know the King of White did this against my people?”
Tiberius stared at the man before taking a knee amongst a group of dead soldiers they had been walking through. When he stood, he held in his hand a heavy wool and linen banner riddled with intricate stitching. In the middle of the flag, stitched in beautiful black and green beads, was the form of a great white bear, standing erect and proud against a snowy forest.
“This is how I know, Tygahl.”
The massive man stared dumbstruck at the heavy banner in the Ranger’s hands. He reached out and brought it to his face to see it closer. “This has not flown openly in these lands in a very long time,” Tygahl said after a few minutes of inspecting the flag.
“No, it has not. Yet here it is at the site of a battle. What would you take this to mean?”
Tygahl dropped the flag to the ground and stared into the bright night sky. His breath started to quicken, and his arms like tree trunks, were shaking with anger. He began to take in large gulps of air to try and steady himself and began jerking his head back and forth in denial.
“The white bear had been the symbol of the White clan long ago in the days before the empire’s founding,” Tiberius pressed, circling around the huge quaking man. “Once they joined the empire, they adopted new banners to show their unity. But some have held onto the old ways and have wished for things to return as they were before the empire.”
“I refuse to believe this, sir,” the Berserker whispered, his voice raspy and rushed.
“Flying this flag is a crime in itself, Tygahl. But flying it in battle? And battle against your own people? What does this tell you, Master Rogers!?”
Tygahl looked at the Ra
nger, his face a mix of anger and sadness. He knew very well what it meant but dared not utter such words lest they become real. He looked around the field at the dead bodies in their pristine white armor. He reexamined the banner, studying the colors and shapes of the bear. He thought on the long history of resentment the kings of White had harbored against the empire. He remembered the anger and ire they felt against being beneath the true lord of their land.
“It means that King White has openly declared insurrection against the empire, sir,” the Berserker said at last. This is unheard of in our empire. Why would he dare such a thing?”
Tiberius motioned for Tygahl to continue following him back to the village. “Yes, it is quite insidious of a maneuver on his part,” Tiberius agreed. “A few days ago, we ran into a few of his knights that apparently had been enchanted. Shortly after that, we were waylaid by an ancient evil in this part of the world called a Revenant. Then we arrive here to find your home being assailed by the King’s men. Too much coincidence.”
“I’ve never believed in coincidence, or chance sir. Things fit together as they will,” Tygahl offered, his anger beginning to subside. “However, enchanted knights, a black demon from legend, and now the King’s own men assailing us? What will your father say to this? It is unfortunate he is so far south in the capital, and not here to deal with this himself.”
“Constance has sent word to the capital and to my men at Kovaiyemarck. Hopefully, they will answer my summons and be here soon enough.”
“Why would they not answer their commander’s summons? Surely such a thing as massacring your own people would be reason enough for the emperor and your rangers to take action.”
“Because things are happening in the outside world, Tygahl. A plot is brewing that we cannot quite yet see. As such, my men may be required elsewhere in the country for another purpose His Majesty has intended. In any case, the summons was sent. Until then, my companions and I shall stay here until you all are back on your feet.”
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 19