Circle of Reign

by Jacob Cooper

  A figure approached the camp from the north in nothing more than a loincloth. From this distance only a wood-dweller could pick out minute details. He was grotesquely disfigured with strange markings and had the build of a bull. Roan believed him to be the stockiest man he had ever seen. The way he walked exuded confidence. No, it was more than simple confidence, Roan decided. Lethality. He not only saw it in the man’s walk but also felt it as he focused on the vibrational signals in his footsteps. There had been similar strides projected from the battlefield where his army fell, and he knew them to be unique to whatever this monster he now observed was, and those of his kind. He remembered the hooded soldiers that arrived the night before.

  What are you? Roan wondered and prayed he would never have to find out. He hurried forward, calling on all his innate wood-dweller skills to remain silent as he moved, until he was within a few hundred feet.

  A sentry greeted the disfigured man but Roan saw the soldier get thrown back twenty feet suddenly as if hit by a catapult’s load. Roan’s body went tense. Others approached the nearly naked intruder and swiftly met similar fates. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The monster was fast, as fast as he was, and wielded the strength of five men, more. At the sound of cries, the hooded soldiers General Roan had observed earlier came out of their tents but made no effort to intervene.

  Thirteen, he reminded himself. He counted to be sure once again and confirmed his earlier recollection. Once they saw the loincloth-clad creature, the thirteen lowered their hoods. Astonishment was too weak a word to describe what Roan felt as he saw each of the thirteen with the same exact shorn head and markings that the intruder had on his scalp. The exact same markings in shape, dimension and all aspects.

  The next moments Roan witnessed carved their own motes of disbelief in his brain and would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Dralghus ignored the soldiers around him once he saw the arrival of his brethren. The Senthary men were nothing more than flies to him.

  “Brethren!” he shouted. Thirteen hoods lowered, revealing the familiar markings of a Helsyan. “See me! You all know me. You know I was once one of you. A slave, lower than a dog to a man who deserved neither our respect nor obedience.”

  Dralghus’ kin listened in silence, unresponsive to his words.

  “The Urlenthi’s hold on me is broken. I am freed by the Dark Mother herself and have sworn to reclaim Helsya for the Ancient Dark. Witness and behold! You see me walking without the shackles of our curse!”

  “We must obey the Stone of Orlack,” one answered. “It is our curse.”

  “Nay, brother, you must be freed from the Urlenthi as I have been. You see my body, ridged and defined as if Charged, yet no Charge is upon me nor shall ever be again save I choose it!”

  They think me crazed, Dralghus realized when they remained motionless and showed no enthusiasm. He understood that they all viewed him as wasted because of his long-failed Charge, which had wracked him for all these years. They will see.

  “Kemen, brother, step forward.” Dralghus beckoned to the one who had spoken. “Do you know your real name? Who you really are?”

  Kemen did not answer.

  “I know you, Heluth,” Dralghus declared, using the Helsyan’s true name. Kemen fell to his knees and tried to reach between his shoulder blades from behind his head with one arm and from below with the other. Rocking back and forth, the man screamed and tore his robe free from his body. A red glow illuminated his name glyph, deeper than the color of cooking coals. The other twelve chase-givers marveled.

  “Dark Mother, I pray you to free my brother Heluth, that he may reclaim Helsya by my side and once again raise seed unto the Ancient Dark.” After a few more seconds, Kemen arose as Heluth. His muscles bulged and he stood erect, strong, as if a Dahlrak had just been issued to him.

  “I now serve the Ancient Dark, Mother of Helsya, and him first freed, the Unshackled, the Shatterer of the Urlenthi,” he proclaimed. “The Urlenthi’s claim on me is broken!” Heluth let loose a cry that caused the scared Senthary who looked on to shake from fright.

  Dralghus began to call the others by their true names, repeating the simple ritual.

  Croathus.

  Valagul.

  Greyvin.

  Zoraman.

  Hagülus.

  Thaxil.

  Marint.

  Alendry.

  Cadán.

  Shimarr.

  Kalithar.

  Rykam.

  Each rose after being freed, their old names forgotten. Dralghus reveled in seeing the strength that stood before him. Freed Helsyans, the first of his race, of the citizenry of Helsya, soon to be reclaimed.

  Reborn!

  Dralghus took the amulet he had removed from Wellyn’s dying body and held it up for his brethren to behold. From the backside of the gold disc, he stripped the translucent white stone free.

  “We now behold this trinket as no more than a childish curiosity. For centuries, the Light has used this to keep us beholden to weaker beings. Most unworthy masters! A curse made to curb us, to hinder our rule upon this world! No more!”

  Dralghus crushed the Urlenthi in his hands as though it were stale bread and reduced it to powder. From his open hand the wind took it into oblivion.

  They went forth as lions among lambs, tearing and crushing thousands of the Senthary men to unrecognizable ichor pulp. Each kill brought the thrill of a completed Dahlrak. Thousands more fled in any direction they could to try and escape the horrific scene upon them. When the ecstasy of the moment had peaked, Dralghus commanded a cease to the sport. He saw his brethren in a state of rapture and knew they were experiencing their newfound freedom in waves of spasmodic jubilation that were hard to control. There were a few hundred soldiers left, on their knees begging for mercy and calling on the Ancient Heavens for deliverance.

  “Mercy?” Dralghus repeated. “Of this, we have none.” Cries were heard coming from those pleading. “But deliverance, yes, this is ours to grant to those who can survive. Speak, mortals, who among you deserves deliverance?”

  Dozens stood, shouting pleas. Dralghus smiled.

  “Take him,” Dralghus commanded Heluth, pointing to one soldier in front.

  “It will be done, Shatterer,” Heluth obeyed.

  Forcibly, the Sentharian soldier was pulled from the masses and pinned to the ground, face down. Dralghus pulled a short blade from the man’s hip and the man began to writhe on the ground, but Heluth and Rykam held him firm. The other eleven Helsyans hovered threateningly over the scores of soldiers remaining, as gods over their lesser creations.

  “Fire,” Dralghus said. A small fire was kindled and the Shatterer began to heat the blade.

  “Dark Mother, Mother of Helsya, this mortal desires to know thee and be delivered from his damned state. Grant his desires, I pray, with a true name bestowed by the Dark that he may assist in the raising of Helsya.”

  Dralghus grabbed the glowing red blade from the flames, and the man screamed as the knife bit into the skin between his shoulder blades.

  Aiden lay tangled in stone branches when he awoke, his face burning. The grimace he wore aggravated it further and he let out a small cry of pain as fire lanced through his left side where he had taken the blow from the mace. He had no doubt his ribs were broken, possibly a pierced or collapsed lung as well. He struggled to open his eyes and clear his vision. He did not know how long he had been out. Above, he saw leaves and branches in a petrified state—the tree top canopy.

  “No,” he said weakly and was again punished for trying to move.

  “Shh!” he heard someone say. He turned his head toward the sound and saw Rue-anna and Mikahl.

  “Don’t try to move,” she said. “Mother says it’s not good to move when you’re hurt.”

  “What’s happened?” Aiden whispered.

  “The corruption came and we scaled down the trees. Or whatever they are now. They still fly above us just circling.”

  “
It’s morning!” Mikahl announced in a loud whisper. “Shh!” Rue-anna scolded. “Shut your mouth, Fletch!” “We have to get up,” Aiden said. “It’s not over.”

  “For you it is,” Rue-anna said softly but firmly. “Have you seen yourself? You’re hideous.”

  “Perfect,” Aiden muttered. “Where is everyone else?”

  Mikahl and Rue-anna shared a look. “There aren’t many,” the boy said. “When the trees turned everyone became too confused and scared. The flying monsters, they…”

  Mikahl was having a hard time saying what he was obviously replaying in his mind.

  “They killed everyone that stayed above the canopy,” Rue-anna finished for her brother.

  “What about the ground forces? Lord Kerr and Lord Hoyt?” Aiden asked with much concern.

  Mikahl shook his head and Rue-anna shrugged. “I can’t feel anything,” the girl said. Aiden realized he couldn’t either but that was to be expected with the change of the forest. If he listened close enough he could feel the vibrations of tens of thousands of men, but they felt so far away.

  “Where are we? Have we drifted?”

  Rue-anna nodded. “About two leagues west of Calyn. The battle carried us here.”

  “Where is your mother? Where is Seilia?” Aiden asked.

  Again the girl shrugged, as if not concerned but she could not hide the worry on her face. “We left our village just after you did.”

  Aiden struggled to get up.

  “Stop! You need a healer!” Mikahl snapped. Aiden did not listen. With great effort he fought through the pain and found his sword, still sheathed. A breeze came and pulled at his face, flapping the loose skin that had nearly been cut away completely. It stung fiercely but he ignored the pain. His left shoulder had been packed with Triarch leaves in the wound where the arrow had pierced him. He inspected the dressing and then looked at Rue-anna.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It was the best I could do. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  “You likely saved my life, little one. I can take the pain if it means I am still alive.”

  “What are you doing?” Mikahl asked. “Please, don’t leave us. They’ll see you if you go out there again!”

  “We must do what we can, lad. I am still breathing and I’ll do all that I can while that is so.”

  “But you’ll die!” Rue-anna exclaimed.

  “We all die but not all of us live. I am proud to have this chance to spend my life in defense of my land and people. It is who I am, who we all are.”

  Aiden made his way up the cold petrified branches and emerged above the canopy. He did not bother to count the number of Alysaar that still littered the air in the early dawn light. More than a thousand span for sure.

  What would he do against so many? All that I can, he heard his heart tell him.

  Ancients above, do not abandon us.

  He drew his steel with his right hand. His left arm rested against his side, trying not to use it. His crushed ribs and wounded shoulder reminded him of their state with every slight motion. The vision in his left eye was fuzzy, but that did not stop him from finding the largest flying abomination in the sky with a single rider. The Borathein leader obviously spied him as well. Aiden heard the bark of a sadistic laugh as the Alysaar banked around and positioned itself right above him. The demon dove with an unnatural shriek, penetrating enough to rattle his bones.

  Sword in hand, he readied himself and quieted his mind. Though stone was firmer than leaves and branches, he felt himself unsteady on the lifeless canopy. He started to repeat the first axiom when a sound interrupted him. It was a whistle, high pitched like the sound of a crossbow bolt, but louder. Much louder. As it increased in volume Aiden finally discerned something approaching from the northwest. A flare of light, slender and white, streaked through the sky. It looked like the shooting stars he would see as a boy that cut the night sky while he hid in a Furlop tree, dreaming of someday leaving his broken home.

  The flare increased in speed and approached directly above where Aiden stood. Just before it was upon him, he thought he made out an image within the light: a svelte figure that looked remarkably like Reign Kerr.

  The small comet collided with the Borathein warrior and his Alysaar and cut through them like a javelin through water. An explosion sounded and pieces of the Alysaar and its rider flew in all directions, raining down ichor all around Aiden. He raised his right arm to shield himself against the debris as well as the brightness of the explosion. Other Alysaar began to fall from the sky in scores as smaller explosions dotted the celestial view before him.

  “I have lived to see the return of the Ancients.”

  Moisture crept into Aiden’s eyes.

  Shilkath felt the flames crawl up his flesh and beard and smelled the redolence of burning hair. The incendiary cloak engulfed him and flared the numerous trophies woven in his beard, these becoming ornaments of fire and ashes. Ascending his beard, the fire turned his long-grown pride to stubble. Hawgl writhed and flapped his wings wildly, throwing his head back and forth, screeching a horrific cry as the beast’s scales melted in the intense heat.

  The Borathein Deklar did not scream when the end came. The explosion tore him and Hawgl apart, spewing their smoldering ruins in all directions.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Reign

  Day 6 of 2nd Dimming 412 A.U.

  THE SUN HAD NOT YET RISEN above the horizon. Reign Kerr was at the top of a Triarch tree at the northwestern Arlethian border along the edge of the Tavaniah Forest with five hundred Warriors of Light. All Arlethians. All Gyldenal. Their spears and arrows were tipped with heads of a dark metal, their sword blades crafted from the same material. Jarwynian ore. Each arrowhead, spearhead and sword was infused with Lumenati Light—not a visible light, but a power harnessed by those who lived after the Lumenatis. A soft hum emanated from the infused weapons.

  Reign felt all the life around her. A leafling taken from the Tavaniah provided her a link to a well of Influence that felt boundless. It frightened her to know she had access to the Lumenatis, to those ancient trees that concealed the very Influence of life for the world.

  The currents of sentience she allowed to pass through her so as not to overwhelm her. When she recognized a current or found one she wanted to focus on, she tapped into it fully. This current of Light was flickering in pain.

  Aiden.

  Two other currents near Aiden’s flowed to her mind’s awareness and she knew that there were only moments.

  You must go, her father said. Now!

  Reign was not ready, not fully. The power she had was not something she understood well enough, but she had little choice. She felt Hedron’s current as well and knew he was also in danger. It was no different than all those who fought, and from the periphery of her mind she felt the cessation of dozens of currents every second. Death, she realized.

  With the Triarch leafling in her hand she sucked in the Living Light from the trees, as much as her capacity would allow her. She strode forward across the trees at incredible speed. Her strides became longer until she was leaping the distance of twenty men at once, then fifty, then one hundred. The air around her started to glow as her speed increased and a loud crack of thunder followed. After that she heard nothing, though she felt incredible pressure around her. She saw the swarm of Borathein and Alysaar less than a league away and Aiden standing alone at the top of petrified trees. A large Alysaar with a single rider dove toward him.

  Now! her father shouted in her mind. Reign launched into the currents of the Alysaar and Borathein bearing down on Aiden from a sturdy bough just before she reached the edge of where living trees became nothing more than statues. The world folded around her in a supernal view as she expended the Living Light within her, it propelling her forward through the air. Heat built up around her as she approached the Alysaar and she began to channel the power into her blade. It hummed loudly.

  “Faerathm!”

  The explosion as she collided with her prey wa
s brilliant and stentorian all at once. The infused blade sent forth a torrent of energy that became fire as it was transferred from the sword to the demon as soon as the tip made the slightest puncture through the scales. She was traveling too fast for the explosion to catch her and she didn’t hear its report until she slowed several seconds later. Landing on a group of stone branches, she turned and saw other Alysaar and their riders falling from their sky-bound perches, some by explosions such as she had caused but on a smaller scale, others contorting in unnatural motions as they fell; still others turned to stone themselves and crumbled as they hit the hardened trees. On the horizon from the direction she had come, Reign spied the Gyldenal sprinting and jumping, throwing spears and loosing arrows. Others were leaping and stabbing flying targets with swords and short blades. It had begun to rain Borathein.

  Aiden was nearby where she had come to rest, looking up to the heavens in what could only be described as wonderment. She looked upon him; his wounds were grave and she felt his current in the Light weaken as he struggled for breath. His ribs were broken, a lung pierced. But this man stood all the same, alone against thousands. He was not alone any longer.

  She quickly grabbed a rolled, three-pronged leaf from a side pouch and gently held it up to his face. Aiden flinched but held his ground.

  “Mylendia shaul,” she whispered as Thannuel said the word in her mind.

  Aiden’s face mended, the tissue and muscles finding and reknitting themselves. The restoration was complete in a matter of seconds, but a long scar remained. She repeated the process on his shoulder and then the left side under his arm.