Before long, quick orders were given to re-erect the tents and get the fires throughout the camp burning again. At his request, Tiberius and Shayla were moved into Michael’s own tent. He had felt a longing to be amongst his friends again, even if only to watch them sleep. He had come so close to losing them, he could not bear to be without them close. Besides, after the power he had displayed, everyone reasoned there was no safer place in the whole of the empire than beside Michael right now.
The emperor and Trevin returned to their own quarters and slept harder than they had since arriving at Rogers Village. Michael, now tucked in his own fur-lined cot lie awake in bed for many long hours, exhausted but mind racing at all that had transpired. Questions kept forming in his head, both new and old. And though he was not prone to dwell on things too much lately, old habits die hard.
Time enough for that tomorrow, he reasoned. And with that, he shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep. Yet, images of the great battle he witnesses kept flashing in his memory. Images of great swirling spheres with raging storms on their surface crept in. A great staff being torn asunder. The parting words of Catherine echoing in his mind. The Revenant and Bruce’s sacrifice. Tiberius’s sword gleaming in the sun. Shayla, clad in her fierce armor, leaping into battle. Mychala and her beautiful face and smile. After an hour or so of tossing and turning, his mind finally gave out under the weight of his racing thoughts, and before long, he fell asleep harder than he had in many long nights.
Chapter 27
The Departed
A strong but familiar voice called out in the darkness. “Michael. Wake up.”
Michael slowly forced his eyes to open, and in the dimness of the tent, could see Tiberius, clad in dark furs over his clothes, standing at the foot of his bed. “What are you doing up, sir?” he asked with a yawn.
“We have been summoned,” Tiberius said. “Shayla is already out waiting for us. Hurry up.”
“Summoned?” Michael asked, with a rub to his weary eyes. “Summoned by whom?”
“By Lady Stonefoot. Now, quickly, get dressed.”
Michael blinked a few times, trying to process Tiberius’ command before slowly standing out of the bed. He felt drained from the effort of wielding the spell only a few hours prior but dressed as quickly as he could before exiting the tent. The moon was waning in the sky, the sun only a few hours away from breaking the darkness of night. He found Tiberius looking out into the distance. His face was solemn at whatever summons had been placed to them.
After a brief nod to Michael, the pair began to slowly march past the rows of tents as quiet as ghosts. Michael’s curiosity was peaked, yet he could not muster the strength to ask any questions.
Catherine had said the dwarves had their own business to attend to tonight. Perhaps this is what she spoke of. How lucky are we to be witness to the business of the dwarves?
Yet as he reached the edge of the camp, far off in the distance at the gates of the village, their eyes fell on a small burning bonfire illuminating the dark night. They continued, unbothered by the small groups of Imperial soldiers that were milling about. The cold had begun to lessen since they first slept, a little comfort in these troubled days they now found themselves.
They eventually came to a stop where Shayla stood outside a soldier’s tent on the camp’s edge. She turned to them as they approached and quickly seized the young Mage in her strong, lithe arms. Michael stood frozen at her unexpected warmness to him before slowly returning the hug. After a moment, they broke apart, and in unison, the three companions began to march towards the village.
As they approached, they could see that what appeared to them as a small bonfire in the distance was now a mighty burning pyre. Passing through the ruined gates, they could see all the villagers of Rogers and the dwarves assembled on the other side of the fiery mass of wood and kindling. A mighty voice called out into the night. Deep and throaty and powerful was the sound that met their ears, yet their eyes beheld the small figure of Catherine.
Her arms were held high as she was prone to do when in conversation with her Father, clearly embroiled in invoking his name and spirit. Her chant carried on for some time until she dropped her arms. As if on cue, a small shuffling of feet could be heard behind them. Out of the darkness, the dwarf warriors emerged. On their backs, they carried the mighty figure of the berserker Tygahl.
They marched through the throng of people until they arrived at the raging fire in the middle of their circle. It appeared to those gathered around as though they passed into the fire unscathed and brought the massive figure to rest atop the pyre before returning to their leader’s side.
“Tiberius, son of Luke,” Catherine called out. “What say you to our departed warrior and brother?”
Tiberius looked from one face to another in the crowd. They each bore a mask of sorrow and pain. Several of the villagers remained grim and unmoved, determined to stay strong despite the loss of their master, but it was on Michele Bearborn’s face did his eyes finally fall. Her face was set and strong, yet her eyes had heaps of tears rolling down her milky white complexion. He nodded to her from across the courtyard before slowly entering the ring. He brought himself to his full height, removed the furs that hung off his shoulders, and cleared his throat.
“My friends, I have not the words to give at the loss of your master and brother,” he began. “Yet, I pray you take comfort in knowing that his sacrifice was not in vain. He died as he lived, fighting to protect those who could not protect themselves. He was a mighty man, yet in the brief time I knew him, I could feel the love and compassion he bore for not only our empire but for each and every one of you.”
He shifted where he stood and began to look again at each person individually. “I swear to you, your master’s death will not go unavenged. We will not let his memory fade. Nor will we forget the evils that have been brought down upon you by a man bent on usurping power and control for his own selfish gain. A man, not worthy of your loyalty! A man not fit to rule! A man who has forfeited not only his kingdom but his life!”
“You all have known me as a simple ranger. Yet I must confess, I am more than that. I am Tiberius, Son of Luke, the emperor, and ruler of these lands. And by his authority, and the authority of the Axton dynasty, I declare you all true citizens of the Axton Empire! No longer bound to the service of a madman, but eternally protected by the full power of my family! From this day until the end of all days.”
The villagers were stifling tears. Never before in their simple lives, on the edge of civilization, could they have ever imagined such a thing would happen to them. That the son of the emperor had been their defender. That they were counted as members of the empire. That their lives, their homes, and their futures would be of such importance to the future emperor.
Tiberius fell to one knee, pressed a fist to his chest, and said bright and clear, “Hear me! Citizens of the empire! Hear the words of my people! Hear me and know my pain! Hear me and know my promises to you!”
He closed his eyes, and in a deep voice, began to sing:
Farewell, my brother, my friend
For where you go, I cannot follow
Farewell Warrior and Soldier
Your battle is over, and at rest, you may be
Long have you struggled and toiled
Long have you resisted the coming end
Long have you waned in darkness and despair
But no more!
No more will ye live in pain
No more will ye wander chains and burdens.
No more will ye be slaved to your struggle and despair
I pray thee will walk in happiness once again.
I pray thee will live in splendor and majesty
I pray thee eternal life in the worlds beyond
Take with thee our prayers and our blessings
Take with thee our love
Take with thee the comfort of your sacrifice
I swear to thee, from this day until the unmaking of the world
<
br /> We will hold your memory forever and always honor thee
Hail!
A mighty shout of ‘Hail!’ echoed out in response from the assembled people. And as if a great signal had been given, the flames burst into bright shimmering green. Not the sickly pale a necromancer’s, but bright and vivid and powerful. The fire burned bright and powerful for many moments before disappearing all at once, rendering the village into complete blackness. The mighty bonfire itself was gone, transported somewhere beyond their village and beyond their world. Transported into the beyond to be greeted by the Father himself.
Tiberius stood again, turned on the spot, and quickly departed from the village. Shayla followed him as he went, yet Michael continued to linger. He slowly approached the spot where the pyre had once stood and saw that the ground beneath him was completely undisturbed.
He turned to face Catherine. “He is with his Father, isn’t he?”
Her sweet smile crept on her stone like face. She turned to face Michael, and said, “Aye, the Father has accepted him into his home. Tygahl will no longer know the pains of war, nor the suffering of mortality. He will run free in the Father’s domain, as is the fate of all his children.”
“Wow. Thank you for summoning us to see this,” Michael replied with a bow.
“You’re welcome, young one. It has been nearly four hundred years since anyone outside of our kin have borne witness to our customs,” Catherine said.
Michael nodded in understanding. The dwarves had bound themselves to the empire that had liberated them so many years ago. And the act of allowing the people of the empire to see their ancient funeral was indeed a recommitment of themselves and their loyalty to their adopted homeland. Michael knew Tiberius would have figured that out himself when he decided to bring his companions here. Though how Tiberius knew this was happening at all still eluded him.
Come to think of it, where is Tiberius anyhow?
***
It was hot inside the prisoner’s tent. The platoon of knights who stood guard outside had not raised an eye to Tiberius striding into the tent. The Narzeth was seated in the middle of the tent. Heavy chains crisscrossed his body with his hands bound behind the chair he sat upon. To Tiberius, he appeared to be sleeping. But as he approached, a dreadful grin crossed his wrinkled face.
“Welcome, Tiberius,” the wizard hissed. His eyes gradually opened, flashing the most intense violet Tiberius had ever seen in his life. “I would pour you a drink, but as you can see,” he shrugged his chain-bound body in contempt, “I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.”
Tiberius’s face remained impassive to the wizard’s words. He examined him over, moving closer to sit across. His voice was rather middle-aged, aside from the almost hissing sound he made with each word. But his skin, his skin looked stretched and worn. Heavy wrinkles adorned his brow, and his violet eyes sat back in the skull. He might have been over a hundred by the look of him. His once tanned skin washed of its color, appearing more like a wraith than a man.
“I sense you have many questions for me, Ranger,” the wizard spoke as Tiberius finally sat. “But none of the answers I give will bring you any peace.”
“I don’t know about that, Narzeth,” Tiberius replied, removing his pipe and settling in. “There are a great many things I remain ignorant to that you could shed some light on.”
The wizard chuckled, seeing past the humble ranger routine Tiberius was trying to employ. “Don’t play stupid games with me, Son of Luke. You are no simple foot-soldier that goes running off at his master’s whim.”
Tiberius remained calm, not even betraying his surprise at the wizard’s remark. Though his mind was racing, trying to figure out how this man would know such a highly guarded secret. But the wizard smiled broader now and carried on.
“Yes. I know who you are, boy. Who you truly are, anyhow, Tiberius Axton, heir to the Axton Empire. Long may you reign. So, for the sake of time, let us just assume I know everything about you and your ilk.”
“Fair enough, wizard,” Tiberius replied. “Then do me the courtesy of telling me your name.”
“My name is of no consequence to you,” the wizard spat. “The sun rises, and with its coming, I shall depart. My mission is done, and I will be welcomed in sands of all time.”
“Unless the King’s men are coming to rescue you, I don’t think you’ll be leaving us anytime soon.”
“I do not speak of the King’s men,” the wizard scoffed. “I speak literally of the sun. I was bound to the demon, and without it, I am powerless. The coming of the sun is the coming of death.”
Bound to the demon? Did he mean The Revenant? Tiberius pressed on.
“And what was your mission? To kill me. Clearly, you did not pass the test.”
The wizard began to wheeze from laughter in such a horrid way that Tiberius was tempted to put him out of his misery. But he relaxed even more, content to endure this vile creature.
“The vanity of the Axtons! I had heard it was true, but to see it, firsthand! This has been worth it!”
He calmed himself and continued, “No, you stupid boy! I didn’t defile my body and soul, learning the heathen magic to come and kill you! What would killing you accomplish? The bastard Luke would just find a new heir. The rangers, a new commander. And all of the Axton Empire would hold you up as a martyr. Brave Tiberius, commander of the legendary Imperial Rangers! What a joke.”
Tiberius didn’t speak, and why should he? If this fool wanted to spout off, then why stop him? “So then, why come here at all? We beat you at Vermillion…”
The wizard lurched forward, trying to break the chains to get at Tiberius. “How dare you speak that name to me!?”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Tiberius thought.
“You didn’t ‘beat’ us. You massacred us! You called down the infernal demons from myth and legend and slaughtered us! And then, as we tried to remove our wounded from the field, your Sorcerer turned them all to dust! Damn you, Tiberius! Damn your Magi! And damn your empire!”
Tiberius did not move. He continued to puff slowly on his wooden pipe, listening to the ramblings he knew were to come. “We didn’t start the war, wizard. We didn’t invade your country half a millennium ago. Your rulers did that.”
“And if they hadn’t, there would never have been an Axton Empire. You are here only because of us!”
“Then why did you invade us at all? Why have you continued to antagonize us and war with us for nigh on five hundred years? What compels you on?”
The wizard stared dumbfounded at Tiberius, wondering how he could not know why the Narzeth had waged their eternal war against the Axton’s. But after a moment, he retracted in his seat and leveled his bright violet eyes at the ranger across from him.
“Go to hell, Ranger.”
Damn. He wanted to tell me. I know he did. But so be it. It doesn’t matter anyhow. What matters is the future.
Now Tiberius leaned forward. “I will not compel you to tell me. I suspect it wouldn’t do much good anyway to torture you. So, tell me, Narzeth, how and why did you come this time?”
The wizard was silent for many moments, choosing his words as carefully as he could.
“How do you destroy an enemy that is mightier than you?” the wizard began. “After the war, many of us rebelled against our leaders. They had led us into ruin and despair, trying to match might with the empire. But that is the way of the Narzeth, strength above all. Against a foe who is stronger than you? We had to find another way.”
“So, you turned to magic, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” the wizard whispered shamefully. “Magic is blasphemy to our gods. But we were desperate now. Many of us went to Beaumont and unearthed the library. We delved deep into the lore. And in it, we found a way.”
“The magic you used would have taken you longer than a year to learn.”
“We couldn’t use magic. Try as we might, we just couldn’t. Though in our study, we learned the skill of binding ourselves to the
shapes of others. Our bodies rendered incorporeal and joined onto another. But then, what shape to take? That was the question.”
Tiberius's mind clicked it into place. “You found a Revenant in Narzeth and joined with it.”
“Many of us tried. Only I succeeded. And once I had done so, I came across the sea to begin my mission. And I am beyond pleased that I was successful, and your downfall is now at hand.”
The wizard smiled broadly as he glanced his eyes to the tent opening behind Tiberius. Faint rays of sunlight were beginning to poke through. The hour of his death had come at last. Tiberius caught his eye and bolted to his feet, seizing the wizard by his withered throat.
“Your mission! What was your mission other than death and chaos!?”
The wizard laughed in between gasps for air. “My mission was chaos! How do you destroy an enemy that is mightier than you? From the inside! You cut their legs out! You dig their roots out! You turn them against one another until they destroy themselves!”
The wizard was practically hysterical now. Small flakes of skin began peeling themselves from his bone and turning to dust under Tiberius's hand. “Your King White! He begged for my help. Pleaded on his hands and knees for my power! My power to destroy you! And I gratefully obliged! Now the fool of a King has found himself in war! More and more of your Kings will turn on you! The people will turn on you! And then, you will burn!”
A swath of skin peeled off in Tiberius's hand, forcing him to release his hold on the wizard's neck. “Do you hear me, Son of Luke!? You will burn! All of you! The Axton Empire will fall! Rejoice!”
Sunlight broke through the flaps that marked the tent wall. The wizard cackled with insane glee. His skin began to fall off in heaps, littering the ground in rotten flesh. Tiberius did not turn away from the sight of melting skin. He watched the wizard dissolve, the hysterical cackling ringing in his ears. And in a few moments, it was all over.
The Spirit of The Warrior: The Axton Empire book 1 Page 34