A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  graced his voice, “I choose where I go, what I do, who

  I do,” he smirked.

  “Why did you choose Marrion?” He was intrigued

  with Harris. He was an enigma, a whisper of power,

  yet still his name was on everyone’s lips throughout

  Cammbour, he was famous in the shadows of war.

  Harris stood with his glass in hand, he reached for

  Brenin’s, but he still had plenty left. Walking towards

  the cabinet he explained, “Because I knew you would

  come.” He poured his drink and turned back to face

  Brenin. His brows raised as he explained, “The

  Atlanti have stronger forces than you give credit.” He

  quickly walked towards him and lumped back into the

  chair. “Battles are raging, and the kingdom is slow to

  react, Sonnin and Cronnin blood is being spilt, yet

  nothing is being done.” Harris gritted his teeth, he

  leant back and tried to calm himself. He placed one

  hand on the desk in front. “You need me.” It was a

  rather arrogant statement, but it was a true one,

  nonetheless. “I have asked for nothing, all I want is the

  same as you, a peaceful world.”

  Brenin sat back and raised his brow, a sense of

  curiosity only grew as he looked towards him. A

  shining champion of war. “What can I do, to help us

  achieve this?”

  “I’m a commander in the taverns, I don’t need the

  title, but the wage would be nice,” replied Harris, his

  ever-growing sense of pride seemed to fill the room.

  Brenin could see past the pompous exterior of

  Harris, his well-groomed appearance was a show of

  confidence, every word he said carried some form of

  pain. He could not hide from the attentive king.

  “It would be my pleasure, to place you here, as

  Commander to the red army,” announced Brenin. He

  stood and walked closer to Harris, he towered over

  him as he looked down towards him. “On one

  condition.”

  Harris nodded. “I’m sure we can compromise,” he

  offered. He leant his arm on the chair and held his

  chin.

  Brenin leant on the desk. “End Marrion.” His

  voice was soft and looming, “I have fought hard in the

  arena of politics, a new title has been opened,” he

  could see the excitement in Harris’s eyes, although he

  was refusing to show it. “I am going against everything

  my council have said, everything my advisers have told

  me. When you’re through with Marrion, a title will be

  given, High Chief Commander, I’m impressed with

  your work, to live in the shadows, be known by many,

  yet seen by none, takes some form of cunning.”

  Brenin stood, he took his glass from the desk.

  “Marrion is our stronghold, it’s a vital trading port with

  the west, the monsters in the waters in Thrasia would

  be glad to see our vessels diverted there.” Brenin

  walked with his glass towards the drink’s cabinet.

  “You’re no longer needed at war, once Marrion is

  over.” With a raised brow he turned to face Harris,

  who sat silent in his chair. “You will be vital,

  everywhere, the only place where you can be

  everywhere at once, is in the palace of Cronnin.”

  Harris stood. His eyes were soft as he looked to

  Brenin. “Now, my compromise,” he softly said.

  Brenin nodded. “I don’t approve of the council’s

  conduct throughout this war.” He searched Brenin’s

  eyes for a response. “If I take the position, all matters

  of war are to be left to me, only,” his brows raised.

  Brenin could see the seriousness in Harris’s eyes,

  he was a worthy commander, how he would fare as

  High Chief Commander, answerable only to Brenin,

  was yet to be seen. Brenin replied with a deep

  grumbling voice, “Deal.”

  Having finally met his new Commander, Brenin

  made his way towards one of the larger rooms at the

  end of the castle mezzanine.

  The Kings Guard were quick to get everything

  ready; they knew that Brenin did not want to stay long,

  but they also knew he would demand to be in perfect

  comfort while he was there.

  At the top of the eastern ridge, a battle rang in the

  air, a retreat had not yet been called, neither side

  would give. Long into the night the battle raged on.

  The courtyard of the castle remained busy throughout

  the night. Brenin could get no sleep. The chaos of war

  was all he could smell around him. The putrid smell

  of battle would put many off ever returning. Old

  blood, ordure, sweat and filth seeped into the pores of

  the skin, it clung to the heavy velvet curtain in his

  room, and drifted in on the warm breeze.

  Having had enough, Brenin left his room, to be

  followed by his guard. Unlike the war camps he did

  not mind, he knew many of the Atlanti would do all it

  took to end his life.

  The entrance to the master’s room was adorned

  with fire flowers, tiny flowers lit the doorway. They

  were an extravagance which was often only seen in

  palaces and the homes of the fey, but clearly the

  commander had an expensive taste. As Brenin

  slammed the heavy wooden door open he was again

  greeted by a call of passion.

  A woman lay on Harris’s bed in the throes of

  passion, her fingers were curled through his long locks

  of black hair.

  Brenin shouted as loud as he could, “Harris!”

  Having seen a different woman, he knew that his

  commander clearly had a problem.

  The woman was horrified, she gave a loud scream,

  quickly she turned and grabbed the silk sheets to cover

  herself. Harris pulled his head up from pleasuring the

  young woman. He still wore trousers. Wiping his

  mouth, he gave a sigh.

  “Apologies, Carrina.” His eyes rolled as he stood

  from the bed. “You’ll have to be done for now,” he

  clearly did not agree with the intrusion.

  Harris stood from the bed. “A battle is raging,”

  Brenin calmly began, he did not remain calm, as he

  shouted, “And all you seem to care about is getting

  your cock wet!”

  Harris drew back, he raised his brows and gave a

  heavy sigh. “In case you didn’t notice, my cock is

  perfectly dry,” he seemed uncaring towards what was

  happening upon the field of battle, “so this is what my

  life is to become,” he sighed as he looked longingly

  towards Carrina.

  Brenin did not take the comment lightly, he

  bellowed, “I don’t care what part of your anatomy you

  plan to moisten! A battle is raging still, you are here,

  you should be there!”

  Harris calmly walked to the drink’s cabinet, he

  poured two glasses of moonshine. Handing one to

  Brenin. Brenin slammed his glass to the desk. Harris

  gave a wide smile.

  “Worry is all you seem to do,” he softly said, “I

  don’t sit idle at war, I’m waiting,” his calm exterior

  seemed to cool the fie
ry temper of Brenin, “come. I’ll

  show you.” He quickly drank his moonshine; it was a

  blast of bitterness which awakened him, burning his

  stomach as it hit his gut. He threw on his black tunic.

  Taking the breastplate and helmet of his lizard skin

  armour, he placed his arm braces on, threw his

  harness strap filled with daggers over his shoulders and

  buckled his swords on. He quickly took his long black

  cloak and made their way from the room.

  Storming across the castle mezzanine the Kings

  Guard quickly followed them to the courtyard. Stood

  in the centre of the courtyard was a towering black

  horse. The black stallion stood proud and still,

  adorned with black lizard skin armour, waiting for his

  orders. Brenin’s horse, Aridius, did not stand as tall,

  or as impressive.

  “On, Svend,” Harris calmly said to his horse.

  Svend made his way through the courtyard and out to

  the barbican, a slight trot was all the speed they

  needed.

  Escorting Brenin to the northern cliff, they

  watched from the plateau as the carnage of battle

  raged in front of them. The view from there was

  perfect. A gigantic field was covered with the massacre

  of war. A distant view of the ocean could be seen, the

  moon’s reflection bounced in the calm waters. The

  sound of ringing swords clattered towards them, calling

  and shouting had turned to dim commotion. The air

  was warm, and eerie. Several large fires burned in the

  field, allowing light to keep the armies fighting.

  “Keep watching,” Harris rested his arms on the

  back of Svend’s neck. The commander seemed calm;

  his arrogance seemed to fill the air.

  Brenin waited. He wanted to see what the young

  commander had planned, he had hoped to see a

  brutal commander, but what he was about to see, was

  barbaric. Lifting his arm Harris made a tight fist. From

  the back of them the mighty blast of a horn echoed

  down towards the battle. The Cronnin army began to

  retreat, but that was not the call for retreat.

  Again, Harris lifted his arm, his fingertips pointed

  directly to the skies. As he slammed his arm down a

  barrage of arrows came flying from the cliff to the right

  of them, the black night skies covered the traces of the

  arrows as they headed directly towards the battle

  grounds.

  He failed to impress Brenin who remained silent

  beside him.

  “The Castle Marrion isn’t just a castle,” explained

  Harris. His voice carried mystery; a strong knowledge

  was entrenched in his voice. “It was also used as a way

  in.”

  Brenin furrowed his brow, he shuffled his way

  around on his horse towards Harris. “A way in? For

  what?”

  “Who,” Harris corrected him with his head held

  high. “Marrion was a mining town, it all stopped when

  the mines went too far, smugglers often use these

  caves, the mines are perfect for them, the mines are

  also perfect for something else.”

  They dismounted their horses and walked to the

  edge of the cliff. Brenin peered down, he could see

  the brutality of his new commander. A rush of water

  could be heard. Brenin looked towards the face of the

  cliff, thousands of holes; all left behind by the old

  mines, began to pour a golden liquid. Cascading

  waterfalls fell from the cliff, smoke poured from the

  holes, but it was not fire he was pouring, it was

  something much worse, it flooded the battle ground

  below, but as it reached the Atlanti on the ground

  blood-curdling screams echoed towards them.

  Brenin looked baffled as he saw them writhing in

  agony on the ground, a strange smell of sharp burning

  drifted up to meet them.

  “What is happening?” asked Brenin, utterly

  bewildered.

  Harris stood calm. “The mabeara have helped

  with this.” Brenin did not fully understand. “Vitriol oil,

  masses upon masses, of vitriol.” His calm was

  frightening, peering over the cliff, Harris stood back as

  the dead smoke began to drift up on the light breeze,

  the screaming was deafening on the ground, but on the

  cliff, it was a distant whisper of agony. “They are the

  miners of this world; they know where the blue crystals

  grow.” Harris looked to Brenin who remained with a

  turned down mouth of horror. Harris reached his

  hand out, as he placed his hand near Brenin’s chest,

  two guards stepped forward. Harris gave a piercing

  looked towards them. “Step back, Sire, the smoke will

  burn your eyes,” he softly said. The guards stepped

  back.

  Harris had proven he was willing to do anything to

  win the war. “You’re playing a dangerous game,

  Commander,” said Brenin, he turned back to his

  horse. “A very dangerous game indeed.”

  “I know, but if danger will win this, let the games

  begin,” smirked Harris.

  For the rest of the night the battle grounds

  remained silent, the crows stayed away, even nature

  would not touch that place. Brenin was horrified as he

  saw both Atlanti and Cronnin caught in the mist of

  piercing arrows and burning oil.

  Arriving back at the castle Marrion, Harris

  followed Brenin up the stone stairs, the mood in the

  castle was sombre. Many had returned with burns, but

  they did not look to Harris with contempt, they

  looked to him with pride. Brenin thought it frightfully

  odd that Harris received such a reception.

  Stepping into Harris’s chambers, Brenin was silent.

  A sickening churning was in his stomach, a mist of

  sweat covered his brow. Harris made his way towards

  the drink’s cabinet.

  “You see,” said Harris with a hint of pride. “I don’t

  sit idle, tomorrow, if the Atlanti call the horn, I will be

  there,” he softly said.

  Brenin walked towards Harris, he snatched the

  decanter from him and poured himself a large drink.

  “It must end,” he softly murmured.

  Harris lifted his hand to stop Brenin from talking.

  “A king must not engage in battle.” His voice was sure,

  an intense feeling of certainty hit Harris. “One day,

  you will lead these people, when they accept you are

  their true king.”

  Brenin was horrified as he shouted, “This is not

  battle, this is barbaric!”

  Harris flung his arm out. “And what they do isn’t?”

  He took the decanter back. “You cannot get involved,

  one day you will be the king of these people, it was

  your commanders who did this, your army but never

  your orders!” he shouted. He respected Brenin, but

  he valued Brenin’s life more than his own. “We do

  what we do to survive, to win.” Brenin could think of

  nothing to say, he knew Harris was right. “You can

  thank me when this is all over.” Brenin silently glared

  into the room. Harris could see he was clearly


  disturbed. Harris softly said, “it’s war they wanted, we

  simply gave them that.”

  Brenin relaxed his posture, his shoulders hunched

  over. “How many must die, before we can just live?”

  he was melancholy, he was missing the peaceful land

  he knew.

  Harris’s eyes widened. “All of us.” His voice

  became soft as he went on, “we fight for freedom, but

  freedom isn’t free, it’s paid for by the blood of our

  children, and our children’s children, it is the most

  expensive thing this world has.” Harris walked towards

  the desk, he sat in his chair, slowly, Brenin followed.

  “I came here to end this battle, knowing that there

  were few others, since being here, another three

  battles have begun; countless villages have been

  ruined, and still the council believe all is well, we need

  a miracle to end this.”

  Brenin glared towards Harris, he seemed lost for

  words, he was losing his own hope. “Perhaps, you are

  what we need?” His voice was trembling, unsure.

  Harris sat forward; he folded his arms onto the

  desk in front. “I doubt it,” he softly replied, “however,

  that’s another reason why I came here, it just shocks

  me that I wasn’t sent for by the council, surely they

  know about me, my ability?” he flicked his brow

  towards Brenin and held a twisted smile.

  Brenin laughed, “Your ability,” he gave a smirk as

  he went on, “your ability to cause chaos isn’t favoured

  by the council, it is favoured by me though, and that’s

  all that matters now.” Brenin relaxed back into his

  chair.

  Harris’s smile grew, he was secretly looking

  forward to a change of scenery. At only twenty-eight

  years old, he had already seen enough war to fill a

  lifetime. The suffering he had packed into his short

  life could finally be left behind him.

  “Everywhere I go, I bring chaos,” he warned.

  Harris gave a menacing look from under his brow.

  “Just make sure the council are ready.”

  Brenin sat forward, Harris did not let his look go.

  “The council of Cronnin will never be ready,” a smirk

  grew, “I can honestly say, they will be sure to leave me

  be, having a symbol of arrogance there every day.”

  Harris barked, “Arrogance? I have earned my

  arrogance, not only by ending the battles you know of,