The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1

by Ryan Copeland

  “You do us a great service, sir,” Rogers replied. “I would be honored for you and your friends to stay amongst us. But please, do not speak of the evil tidings of King White until we know for certain. I trust you and your judgment and knowledge, but these folks would not take kindly to the news that they were assaulted by their own lord.”

  Tiberius nodded in agreement. Though he was a man of the empire and swore no allegiance to any of the Kings of the land, he had to respect their sovereignty within their holds. The people loved their monarchs, perhaps more than they loved their emperor. It would be unwise to reveal that their beloved ruler had ordered his men to attack a village on the edge of nowhere.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence until, at long last, they reached the inn. Rogers slowly entered the crowded room and was taken aback by the sight before him. He inched his way through the throng until he reached Michelle, fast asleep at the bar where Tiberius had left her.

  “Wake up, little one,” Rogers whispered sweetly to Michelle.

  She began to stir, opening one eye then another. It took her a few moments to realize who was speaking to her, but when she saw the now kind face of the Tygahl, she jumped to her feet and hugged his bear-like neck tight. “Where have you been, you big brave fool!?” she exclaimed.

  “Out in the snow acting like a child, when I should have been here with you,” he admitted shamefully. “How are our people?”

  “They are all banged up and hurt pretty badly, but Master Tiberius here and I mended them as best we could,” she replied, breaking her vice like grip on his neck. “I fear if we don’t have more help in the next few days, things will begin to turn worse.”

  “Tiberius here has already sent word to the capital and to his men,” Rogers revealed to the young girl. “Help will come, I promise.”

  “Was there not a Mage amongst us today?” she asked. “Perhaps he could use his magic to heal our people.”

  “I’m afraid our Mage has fallen into a deep sleep,” Tiberius replied, joining them at the bar. “He is still a child, and the effort with which he conjured that magic today has taken its toll on him.”

  Though true that Michael had passed out from the strain of conjuring such powerful magic, Tiberius dared not reveal more than was needed. Doing so would cause too much worry, and these people had enough to deal with as it was. And he was still unsure who was friend and who was a spy for his unseen enemy. But it was fortunate enough that Michael possessed the Father’s wand and could still summon magic. Though now that he thought on it, it too was a coincidence that Michael possessed the wand at all.

  His mind flashed to the face of the dwarf Catherine, and her belief that things were in motion that none could see. Though now, with his eyes and mind working again, he felt he could begin to perceive the guiding hand of Frijigzah at work. For it was his wand Michael wielded. It was his children, the dwarves, that had saved them after their encounter with the Revenant. And it was his Berserker that had turned the tide in the battle. But he pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind for later.

  “The boy had best sleep, Michelle,” Rogers said. “I have seen what becomes of young mages who push themselves too hard too fast, and I would not wish such ills on our young savior.”

  “You have my word, Ms. Bearborn,” Tiberius said, placing an open hand on his chest and bowing his head. “Though we are far from you, the empire has not forgotten you and your people. They will come to help.”

  She stood and embraced the Ranger with such strength that Tiberius had not felt in a long time. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “We are grateful.”

  They broke their embrace and looked at the people scattered in the inn. After a long while, Rogers spoke again. “It must be after midnight; we should all turn in. I suspect tomorrow will be a long day.”

  Tiberius bid them farewell and left to check on his men who were standing watch throughout the night. He found them scattered throughout the edges of the village, vigilant as hawks on the hunt, and ready for any sign of danger through the night. Satisfied with their positions and demeanors, he headed back to the barracks to rejoin his friends.

  He quietly stepped across the threshold into the ranger’s barracks. A few stray villagers had taken up the remaining beds since his absence, but at the back of the room, he found his friends. Young Michael still fast asleep, though his breathing had regulated, and a faint snore was escaping his body. Shayla laid on the floor in a makeshift pallet, her spear just within arm’s reach but propped against the wall next to his sword.

  He stared at his friends for a long time. In the few short days they had spent together, a great many things had transpired, and yet more was still to come before they reached their final destination somewhere in the mountains beyond. He had grown to care very much for both of them. In fact, they had become equal to him as his own rangers were for his affection and loyalty. He was proud to be with them, and he was happy at long last to realize he was in the company of true friends. He sat in a chair next to them, cautious about making no sound lest he wake them from their much-deserved slumber.

  He slouched down and kicked his legs out in front of him before pulling out his pipe. He puffed for a while, ever watchful of any signs of trouble. But after many hours of forced alertness, he closed his eyes and, for the first time in many days, fell fast asleep amongst his companions in the safety of the barracks.

  Chapter 17

  The Village of Rogers

  Tiberius woke to the welcoming smell of crisp bacon and strong bitter coffee. He forced his eyes open and stood from the chair with a great stretch. Michael was still fast asleep in the bed before him, yet Shayla and her spear were absent from where they had lain last night. He retrieved his own weapon and left Michael’s room to find the sun beaming down through the windows. In the barrack’s central area, he saw many of the villagers had departed from where they had slumbered the night before. Those that remained were awake and appeared to be in good spirits, all things considered. Behind the main area, he found three of his men fast at work preparing breakfast.

  “Well met, rangers,” he said, the sleep leaving his voice.

  “Well met, sir,” one of the men, a little younger than the rest, replied. “Your friend the Dragoon left before sunrise to hunt for our breakfast. She did not want to wake you from your sleep.”

  “I wish she had,” Tiberius said. “I am eager to see the aftermath of yesterday’s battle before the whole village wakes.”

  “I don’t think that will be an issue, sir,” another ranger said, himself busy with frying massive cuts of thick bacon. “Constance and Tygahl have ordered the villagers to stay in the inn lest another attack come today. If they need something from their own dwellings, the Master is escorting them personally.”

  Tiberius nodded in approval. Constance was new to the rangers but already had the instincts and leadership to make a fine leader within his ranks. He retrieved a small mug of coffee and headed outside to inspect the town but instead was struck with an unexpected surprise. Amongst the tattered village’s debris, he found Shayla and the Rogers slowly working through the rubble. Small piles of lumber had been stacked, stones piled up, and anything not reusable was slowly burning in the town square.

  “Well met,” he said as he neared them.

  “Good morning, sir,” Rogers replied, hoisting two large beams onto his broad shoulders. Even without the power of the Father flowing through him, the man was just as strong and formidable.

  “I trust you slept well?” Shayla asked. Any traces of venom in her voice from their last conversation was gone. In its place was a renewed calm and earnest devotion to her friend and leader.

  “Indeed, I did, thank you,” he replied with a nod.

  “Any word from the capital yet?” Rogers asked, heaving the beams onto a growing pile.

  “I have not checked with Constance yet, Master Tygahl. But I suspect not yet.”

  “Please, sir, do not call me ‘Master’,” Rogers replie
d. “I have no dominion over you or your friends, and after yesterday I simply wish to serve and rebuild my home.”

  Tiberius smiled at the warmth the great man showed him. “As you wish, Tygahl. What time did you and Shayla start this morning?”

  “Just before daybreak. Your Dragoon here had already been off for a hunt and brought back much for our breakfast this morning.”

  “I held my vigil over the boy throughout the night,” she added. “The morning sun gave way to renewed purpose. My lord bid me rise and get to work. You helped the people in your way last night. This was the least I could do to help.”

  “Your skill and power in battle more than enough helped our village, Shayla. We are eternally grateful to you,” Tygahl replied with a small bow. “My home is your home for as long as you need it.”

  “I reckon we will be here for a while,” she responded. “At least until Tiberius’ friends arrive from the south.”

  “Aye,” Tiberius said, discarding his mug and straightening himself. “We can’t very well leave you and yours to fend for yourselves after all that has happened.”

  “I still don’t understand why the King would send his men to attack us,” Tygahl said. “What manner of treachery would compel something like that is wholly foreign to me.”

  Tiberius and Shayla exchanged knowing looks. While Tiberius had confided in Tygahl of their encounter with the enchanted soldiers and the Revenant, he did not reveal all that he thought or imagined preferring to keep such conjecture to himself. Nor had he told their tale to the fullest, but now was as good a time as any he supposed. He beckoned Tygahl to sit with him and, for the next hour, regaled him on all that had happened since their departure from the capital. As to the true purpose of their mission, that he would not dare speak of yet.

  When he had finished his tale, Tygahl sat for a moment before leaping to his feet and pacing the length of their work area. Tiberius and Shayla exchanged more looks of worry. Partially over how he would take the news, and somewhat worried that he would succumb to his newly invigorated rage.

  “Surely some madness has poisoned the King’s mind,” Tygahl said at last. “To match might with the empire is folly indeed! In terms of sheer numbers, he does not have them. In terms of battle-tested warriors, he does not have them! By all accounts, he is courting suicide against the emperor!”

  “You are right, sir,” Shayla said. “I have fought with the empire’s armies, and their ferocity and skill in battle were enough to break the Narzeth. That is something that had not happened in all of our recorded histories. What he is hoping to gain, I cannot foresee.”

  “The kings of the White Kingdom have long held a grudge against the Axtons,” Tiberius offered, recalling the history of their shared people. “The Axtons were of Clan White in the days before the empire. Alexander Axton himself was a great general in these lands, revered by all for his skill in battle and his diplomatic and caring nature. The Whites have never forgiven him for assuming the title of emperor. They felt then, as I’m sure they do now, that their own general should have won the glory for them.”

  “I did not know that,” Tygahl admitted, halting in his tracks.

  “Very few people outside of our families know that,” Tiberius admitted. “The Axtons abandoned all allegiance to its home kingdom, instead swearing fealty to all peoples of the continent. Alexander Axton was a unifier of warring tribes. The Whites saw him as a conqueror and a traitor.”

  “That is nonsense!” Tygahl declared, spitting the ground in anger. “Your ancestor tamed the leaders of this continent and brought forth the most powerful empire in the world. To say he conquered is completely wrong and a salacious lie! Besides, who could hold a blood feud for five hundred years?”

  “I agree, my friend. Alexander didn’t win any titles; he unified the people for a common purpose. Then, those same people he led in battle elevated him to emperor. But you northerners are a stubborn lot! And the Kings of White are greedy and have always seen others as beneath them. At any rate, you cannot change someone’s view of things. Nor can you reason with someone who has let five hundred years of hatred and resentment fester in their hearts. I would reckon that the latest King White has finally had enough and suffered enough perceived insults that he is claiming what is his.”

  “Then he will die for his folly and hubris,” Tygahl replied.

  “It still doesn’t explain his actions in laying waste to his own people,” Shayla interjected. “Nor, if the Revenant was indeed under his sway somehow. Can a beast such as that be tamed and used for someone’s evil purpose?”

  “No,” Tiberius conceded. “A Revenant is the spirit of the corrupt and evil. It leeches the very power of the land and allows it to grow strong with dark magic. It cannot be tamed. And as to the King’s motivations on yesterday’s actions, I am at a loss for understanding.”

  Shayla nodded in agreement before Tiberius continued, “Then do you not also believe it is not chance or luck that we have been rescued thrice all by things tied to the Father Frijigzah?”

  Shayla nodded again, conceiting her companion’s assessment. “It is true that we have been rescued out of danger by things or people directly tied to him, yes. What would all this tell you?”

  “I do not know, my friend. Three times have we come into danger on our quest. Three times we have been rescued by the workings of Frijigzah. Right now, I feel like I’m a pawn in a game being played by something higher than our understanding. To be honest, I’m sick of it.”

  “The Father has always been a mystery to us,” Tygahl added. “We who worshipped him for his might and power were always ignorant to his purpose.”

  “The dwarves seemed to be fully attuned to him,” Shayla replied.

  “The dwarves are kin to us through our belief in Him. Yet, we were simply blessed with his power. Both of you should know that the gods and spirits of the world do not bestow their gifts willingly. Each of us carries a portion of their power and have used those gifts for a purpose. Perhaps our purpose has been theirs all along. We have just been stuck in our own mortal understandings; we could not comprehend them.”

  The Ranger and Dragoon stared at the man, struck in awe of his wisdom and insight. They had never considered their gifts to be for the greater glory and purpose of those who bestowed them. They had always wielded them for their own need. But now, they began to see things differently. Perhaps the Warrior and dragon king did have a stake in the affairs of the mortals below them.

  “In any case,” the Berserker continued, “I think I will take a walkabout. I need to think on things.”

  After he departed and was a way off, Shayla turned to the Ranger and asked, “Should we tell the boy of our suspicions when he wakes?”

  Tiberius stopped at her question. He surveyed the terrain around them, taking in the beauty of such a cold and desolate world and how it could bring peace to troubled minds. It had been many years since he ventured this far north. But being here amongst these people, and amongst the cold and calm. Amid the woods and mountains in the distance, he could feel as though he were home. As though he were Alexander himself in his native land. Even though he was born in the city way down south and trudged all over their empire in his duties, up here, he finally began to feel home.

  His mind flashed to Michael, full of life and smiling around the campfires with him. The dwarven children laughing at his jokes and to how frightened he was that night he faced down the ten kings atop the Unity Tower. How in such a short amount of time he had turned from a scared boy to a man. Life in the wild will do that to anyone, and after all they had faced together, he had started to come into his own. In an instant, he knew the truth.

  “Yes, Shayla. We will tell the boy,” he said at last. “He has saved our lives twice now, saved this whole village in fact. This whole mission was started because of him, and he has earned the right to be told everything.”

  “I agree. I was simply seeing if we were on the same page,” she replied with a bow. “I think I w
ill go force Tygahl to the inn for some breakfast. A man his size could probably eat a dozen horses and still have room to spare.”

  Tiberius smiled at her, bowed low, and watched her stroll away back to the Berserker before turning to continue his walk in the village. He stooped here and there to inspect the bodies of the dead soldiers that still littered the ground. Their leather-wrapped armor looked new and untested. Their swords and spears were recently forged and showed no sign of wear and tear. This was a newly fielded army, he realized. And as such, was given all the latest and most modern gear in the kingdom’s arsenal, though little good it did them when matched against experience and skill.

  What an absolute waste, he thought to himself as he strolled. Their blind devotion to that idiot they call King is what got them killed, and I fear many more of their brothers will fall before his incredible hubris and stupidity is revealed.

  An hour later, Tiberius arrived at the inn to check on Michelle and the villagers. To his surprise, instead of the cacophony of pain and anguish that had greeted him the night before, he now heard laughter and merriment from outside the inn. Stepping inside, he found Tygahl and Shayla digging into their breakfast alongside the surviving villagers. Many of the townsfolk had begun to regain their composure and happiness. Many were now offering praise to Tiberius and his companions, while many more had started to offer their services to Tygahl in whatever manner of help he required.

  “I’ll find some work for everyone to accomplish after we finish our meals,” he said in between bites of bacon. “We will all need to pull our weight if we are to rebuild what was taken. But enough of that!” He held a flagon of mead aloft and proclaimed, “Thanks be to the gods of our fathers!”

  “Thanks be!” the people replied in unison before toasting their Master.

  “And thanks be to the rangers, and the brave Dragoon Shayla, for this much-needed food and comfort!” Tygahl proclaimed again.

  “Thanks be!” the people replied again.