Circle of Reign

by Jacob Cooper

  Jayden slept against a large elm tree. In slumber, the old woman looked like she could be part of the tree itself. So peaceful and tired she looked that Reign was afraid to wake her. But Jayden surprised her by waking up instantly when Reign was within a few steps and coming to her feet spryly. Her eyes were young even if her body was not.

  “How did you know I approached?” Reign asked. “You are not a wood-dweller and my step carries no sound.”

  “I know your current, little one.”

  Reign didn’t understand but instead of acknowledging her ignorance asked, “Will we go to Arlethia now?”

  “Almost, yes, but not to your brother. Not yet.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Shilkath

  Day 5 of 2nd Dimming 412 A.U.

  IT WAS NEARLY TIME. The border where Arlethia began could easily be discerned. Life was more vibrant and lush almost immediately. The land thrummed with vitality and the air became noticeably warmer. Shilkath reveled in the vengeance he would release upon those who betrayed his kin, and he felt Hawgl tense underneath him. The beast was anxious for blood after so long of a journey. Vyath would smile this day as the land turned red with the blood of an entire race. More than anything, Shilkath longed for conquest and the lush land called Senthara.

  Alysaar scouts had reported the location of many small villages and two larger cities in the northern reaches of this land. The trees’ leaves and upper branches seemed woven together for leagues as one solid covering, hiding and protecting those far below.

  “It’s like a living barrier,” Bellathia said as she swooped down and glided next to the Deklar. “We cannot see our forces below.”

  “Prethor knows his duty and does not require our assistance,” Shilkath replied. His nephew led the infantry march on the ground.

  “What of this green shield below us?” Bellathia was stunned to see the heights the trees reached.

  “Our Alysaar will pierce it like a glowing red spear head through ice and feast upon the flesh of the traitors cowering underneath.”

  “Your nephew is not wrong, Deklar. They are not weak. I do not foresee this being an easy victory.”

  “But it will be a victory nonetheless. The fool Wellyn has done his part. See the destruction ahead down from the horizon.” Shilkath motioned to a barren spot where a stretch of dark statues in tree-like forms manifested themselves. “Their armies are now in the frozen plains of Kulbrar.”

  “Vyath’s Blood!” Bellathia swore. “What power can do such a thing?”

  “It is a Dark Influence, as they call it, that our kin discovered but never understood how to use. Wellyn has a most cunning serpent.”

  “Servant, you mean.”

  “All servants are serpents. I said what I meant. Now get back in formation.”

  Bellathia’s Alysaar grunted as she pulled back on the reins and directed it back to their place in the winged battery formation. As they approached the barren area of stone trees, many of the Borathein muttered curses and disbelief. Shilkath only saw the thousands of dead below. Arlethian and Senthary alike lay still, slain. Several thousand score, he guessed. The stench was powerful, but it did not offend the Deklar. Ravens and crows fought for claim over the sea of carcasses amongst the stone forest floor. Looking east, he saw smoke trails coming from small fires on the ground just outside the forest’s borders. The remnant of the Sentharian army, Shilkath knew. He thought he might hear some celebration through the thin air where he flew, but no such sound was heard. A raven dared fly too close to his winged mount and the Alysaar snapped its neck in a whiplash as fast as lightning, impaling the bird on its bony maw before extending its long tongue to pull it from the spikes and into its mouth.

  This is no price we have been asked to pay for our new lands, Shilkath thought. Destroying these vile creatures is a pleasure. He wondered if he would be able to lift his head after all the glory of his victory was added to his beard. The most prized he would wear daily in his beard and the others would be displayed in his palace, he decided. No more tents with frozen ground or caves burrowed from frozen rock for my dwelling. A palace befitting a Deklar will finally be mine to rule from, as Vyath would have it.

  Below, he heard the screams. Prethor must have come upon a village of some kind and was busy exterminating its population. Shilkath could not see the action taking place, but knew the sounds of weaker beings being sent to the frozen plains. His sights were set on Calyn, the state city of Arlethia, according to Wellyn. This is where the greatest population would be found, and any hope of a battle. If there was still a spirit to fight among these people, he knew he would find it there. Unlike others under his command, such as Bellathia, Shilkath remained skeptical of the force that would oppose them after seeing the devastation Wellyn’s forces brought upon the Arlethians. He prayed to Vyath that his Griptha would be more than a matter of eradicating the treacherous wood-dweller spawn from their lands as mere pests to be swept away. He yearned for a worthy fight to bring glory to himself and his people.

  And then, he promised himself, we shall eventually have the entire land to ourselves, even Arlethia. Wellyn will not be able to stop us. He had decided that, as he fully expected some kind of treachery from Wellyn, he must be preemptive.

  The horde under his command was followed by the remainder of his people, still more than a span of days behind them on the ice desert. After uniting all the disparate nahgi under himself as the lone Deklar, his people’s purpose had been unified, their resolve solidified. There was no turning back, no home to return to. They were determined to conquer or perish in their holy Griptha. Shilkath brought one hand to his chest and rubbed the scar where he had opened his flesh upon the altar of Vyath. He had pledged his all to this Griptha by that ordinance. Failing meant death and eternity in Kulbrar with no remaining kin to avenge his people should they fail. He would never walk barefoot upon the warm Shores of Thracia after this life if he died in defeat. He would succeed. He must succeed.

  Seilia would not run. Others had fled as the vibrations of the approaching invaders surged. There were those, like herself, who felt compelled to remain. She sent Mikahl and Rue-anna away, south to Calyn with all the other younglings of the village. She knew their age of innocence had passed despite still being under ten years old. They were well ahead of the slow moving invaders and would be safe. She prayed the Ancient Heavens’ protection upon her children.

  How many had stayed? Maybe one hundred of her small village? She didn’t bother to count—the number didn’t actually matter. She had her husband’s quiver with less than a score of arrows her children had crafted. The bulk of their produce she sent with them to provision the forces gathering in Calyn. Joining the few who remained, Seilia stepped up to a line they had formed in front of their homes and laid the quiver at her feet. Elderly men, mostly infirm, and mothers. One of her husband’s bows was slung over her shoulder. With trembling hands, she unslung it and notched an arrow. The thick linen fibers were reverse twisted, slightly tapering thinner near the center of the string to increase the arrow’s velocity. Her fingers felt numb against the rough bowstring as she traced the line up to one end of the curved wood. A simple bowyer’s knot joined the limb and string at each end.

  The weapon felt heavy in her arms as she brought it up and pulled the string back. The webbing between her thumb and fore-finger fit snugly under the corner of her jaw and she centered the blurred string close to her eye. She held and tried to calm her shaking arms. A single tear ran down her face as the marauders came into view. It was cold in the breeze and dried before the trickle reached her lips. Large men, long bearded and clad in thick clothing, marching in disciplined ranks. They had the hardened look of those whom mercy had abandoned, leaving no trace of it within them. She expected none to be granted.

  Searching for comfort and strength, she let her right hand wander from the bowstring to the ornately carved pendant hanging from around her neck. The details of the Triarch carved leaves were beyond anything her husband
had ever done as a carpenter, a symbol of his perfect love for her, he always told her. It had been a gift from her children but she knew he had done the intricate work on their behalf.

  At the sight of easy prey, a few score broke off from their organized march formation and rushed the small line of villagers. When they were within fifty feet, Seilia released the arrow and quickly notched another, drew, and fired. This second one found a home within a leg. A third time she drew and fired. More soldiers detached and joined the charge with eagerness. Seilia thought they wore the countenance of rabid dogs that had not eaten in a span, but it was just the blood thirst. Wherever they came from had been far away and their anticipation for battle welled deep.

  As more of the anxious northerners joined the building frenzy, Seilia saw they would soon be overrun. They could make it, she and those who stood with her. If they left now, they would easily put a safe distance between them and the rabble that chased them. Even the slowest wood-dweller could outrun the fastest of these large ox-like men. But, would that serve their home? Her children?

  Seilia knew every invader she harmed or killed would serve her children best. She would stay and do all she could until she was overrun, though it would feel small in the grand reach of Heaven’s Light.

  The bowstring sounded its brief song as she released another arrow. With nervous tension she notched a fifth and barely got it off, striking an assailant not four feet from her in the neck. That was the last arrow good mother Seilia had time to fire.

  Prethor allowed the distraction, seeing it as healthy to let some of his men release cycles of pent-up anticipation. Only a few score joined in but the morale it created was contagious throughout the ranks. The number of fresh trophies adorning the beards of those who participated in the attack seemed quite numerous, Prethor thought, for the small number of those in the village. The Deklar’s nephew hesitated at feeling impressed when he learned the village had only women and old men to defend it. Would Vyath be pleased with such a meaningless victory?

  “For you Prethor, as our ground force commander,” a Borathein warrior said as he approached. He held out in his open hand a curious circular trinket. Wooden carved leaves in the form of the clouds in the Low Season.

  “I will not accept a token from slain women who were such easy prey,” he said adamantly.

  “She killed two and wounded a third badly enough we had to leave him behind,” the warrior told him.

  Now this impressed Prethor. Perhaps this pendant was worthy after all.

  Hours later, their flight slowing to not get too far ahead of their ground forces below, Shilkath finally caught sight of a large city on the southern horizon. Its spires peeked through the top of the treed canopy amidst a large clearing in the otherwise jungle-thick growth.

  Shilkath let out a cry of exhilaration that was echoed by two hundred thousand Borathein warriors and thousands of Alysaar. The Griptha would be fulfilled this night.

  FORTY-NINE

  Hedron

  Day 5 of 2nd Dimming 412 A.U.

  HEDRON AND THOSE WITH HIM made their way to the arena in the center of Calyn, where people from across Arlethia were gathering. A crowd of thousands thronged him as word spread about his appearance in the city. Many who had been fleeing abandoned their efforts and joined the crowd. Some shouted his praises as the rightful heir of the Arlethian Kingdom; others denounced him as an imposter, claiming that Hedron Kerr had died alongside his mother. And there were those who seemed totally indifferent, not caring if Hedron was who he claimed to be or not because they had no hope in these desperate times. Still others, who apparently did not contest his identity, mocked and berated him for being a member of the family that had brought such death and destruction among their people. Even a span ago he might have agreed with this sentiment.

  No longer.

  Tensions ran high as they traveled, and Hedron gave no heed to those who called after him. Aiden and the wolf cubs managed to keep the people to a distance of roughly six feet and prevent the crowd from thrusting in on him.

  Hedron’s entrance was impossible to miss as the already crowded area became saturated with the addition of the crowd he brought in tow. Three men stood elevated on some wooden crates and were in turn addressing those present. On the arena floor were tens of thousands of wood-dwellers loosely organized into different groups. Men, women and children scurried about uneasily. Most were armed with weapons of crude create, some with nothing at all. Few were properly armed or clad, and of those who were, Hedron doubted they were skilled with steel. He knew he was among the latter class. This fact worried him. He even spied a score or so of soldiers dressed in the apparel of the Arlethian army. Most of them were physically injured but all of them had a blank look upon their faces that bespoke damage on the inside as well as out.

  The three men stopped when they noticed Hedron and his strange entourage. Each appeared middle aged and well dressed, though completely out of their depths. They were probably chosen as leaders due to their social standing but Hedron could readily see not everyone here accepted their assumed authority.

  “You must be strong,” Aiden counseled quietly. “Do not doubt your name or the honor of it. Demand their loyalty.”

  Hedron took a deep breath and looked at Aiden. His face was bruised and crusted with dried blood around the lips. He felt a pang of guilt as well as pride that he was able to land any kind of attack on Aiden, but realized his face must be similar looking, and he was left feeling mostly foolish. Aiden gave a curt nod and the boy took a step forward.

  “Wait,” Aiden said, grabbing his shoulder. “I almost forgot.” From his small travel bag, he withdrew something wrinkled and loosely folded. It was dark green and thick, covered with stitching that mended scores of tears and rips. Aiden unfurled it and Hedron saw the symbol of House Kerr in the center of this cloak.

  “My father’s cloak?” Hedron asked.

  “No, yours. Jayden would not let me part without taking it. She hoped you would grow into it.”

  With that said, Aiden wrapped the cloak around Hedron’s shoulders and fastened it at the top of his sternum.

  “Rise now, Lord Kerr.”

  With a confidence he did not feel, he strode to the makeshift risers. Stepping up on the crates, he addressed the three speakers who had been doing their best to organize the people into battalions and platoons.

  “Greetings. Who are you?” he asked with a smile to the first man and extended his hand.

  The man furrowed his brow with caution and responded, “Glimon, of Turla.” Glimon took Hedron’s hand and shook it hesitantly.

  “Yes, I loved running through the swirling trees of Turla as a boy. And you?” He turned to the second man again with his hand outstretched.

  He also looked uncertain but taking the first man’s cue he answered. “Teagan, from the coast.”

  “The famous fishing merchant? Yes, of course, I know you. My father always boasted your catches were the freshest in Arlethia.”

  Turning to the third man, Hedron felt his façade start to fracture. He was large and muscular with a shock of disheveled hair that made him appear most unapproachable. Hedron forced himself not to waver.

  “And you, friend?”

  The man did not take his hand. He stood with his arms crossed for several long moments that made the scene become awkward.

  Hedron stepped closer to the man and said quietly, “I am not your enemy, my friend.”

  The man capitulated and took Hedron’s hand. “Merrick, a blacksmith of Faldraig.” His grip was iron.

  “Men,” Hedron said addressing all three, “I thank you for your loyal efforts, bravery, and service. You are dismissed to join your people.”

  The men did not move and a murmur went through the ranks of those closest that could hear. Hedron could see the effect of his sudden arrival that had caused these three to momentarily play along was wearing off.

  “Now see here lad, we have—” Teagan began but was cut off by Hedron’s glar
e. Teagan’s eyes widened.

  “I am no boy! I did not ask for further comment, master fisher! You have been dismissed!” Hedron saw that Teagan was taken aback by the authority in his voice and he saw recognition flash in the fisherman’s eyes. Merrick unfolded his arms and Hedron prayed that was not a preamble to the man striking him. The blacksmith’s forearms were larger than a sledgehammer’s head. No blow came.

  Hedron held Teagan’s gaze unflinchingly.

  “Who are you?” Teagan asked while looking hard at Hedron’s features, searching. The man seemed to be lost in a state of wonder.

  Surely I look no more than a mere boy in worn clothing to them.

  “Yes, I apologize for not making that clear at the outset.” Hedron turned to face the tens of thousands around him. A knot swelled in his stomach. Ignoring it, he found his voice.

  “I am the only son of Lord Thannuel Kerr, who was the son of Lord Branton Kerr before him, the same Thannuel who was murdered by a treacherous High Duke for daring to protect his only daughter! I am the son who heard his mother’s screams as she was killed by those who professed loyalty! I am the brother who hid and sheltered his twin sister to protect her from those that cruelly sought her life though she was under the age of innocence and innocent of any crime all the same!”

  Disbelief streamed through the masses. Hedron did not know which claim he had shouted caused the undercurrent, or if it was the confluence of all the claims. He continued undeterred.

  “I am the cousin of Lord Banner Therrium who was slain in the midst of traitors whilst defending this, our long inhabited home! I am the friend and student of Master Aiden who slew hundreds of the Khansian Guard to protect that same Lord Therrium with no thought for his own life!”