Circle of Reign

by Jacob Cooper

  “Welkaira!” she shouted as her humming blade sank into soil to the hilt. The shockwave went out from her in all directions, throwing large men and trees scores of paces as pollen before a mighty wind. Bones were shattered and limbs separated from torsos. She did not hesitate to strike again and shot forward into another mass of Borathein, sending out another shockwave with the same devastating effect. She repeated it a third time, clearing large sections of the Arlethian forests. Finally, the Light within her was nearly expended and she felt weary again but stopped herself before spending her own core Light.

  When Reign stood, a crater of rippled ground surrounded her. She did not need to gaze about her surroundings to see the mayhem she had just wrought upon the Borathein, for she felt the death in their currents before they ceased to flow. Skin shone through her dress in many places that was quickly being reduced to rags from so much physical abuse. She was actually surprised any thread still covered her. A shoulder was exposed, as was much of her back, the tattered material having given way under the stress.

  A circular perimeter of nearly thirty feet devoid of anyone or anything, save for an unnatural recessed meadow of soil and tree stumps, surrounded her. The number of Borathein who had just left this world from her brief volley of attacks was nearly nine thousand.

  Outside the edge of her cratered perimeter, men started to move. Some regained their feet, others remained on the ground, holding wounds or searching for missing extremities. Slowly, the Borathein realized what just happened. Fear flowed in their currents.

  Hedron came to Reign’s side.

  “That’s new,” he said. “And it’s about time.”

  His sister smiled at him and gave him a warm hug.

  “Father is so proud of you, Hedron. I feel it inside.”

  The boy lord looked at his sister for a long moment. “I wish he were here.”

  “Oh, he’s not far.”

  “We’ve still got some problems to deal with,” Lord Kerr said, looking at the tens of thousands of Borathein still around them.

  “I’m not so sure.” She stepped forward, exiting her crater.

  Hundreds of Gyldenal dropped from the trees above them and landed around Reign. They wielded their infused weaponry and were poised to attack. The hum emanating from their armaments caused a small stir among Borathein, Senthary, and Arlethian alike. Reign began to draw in the Light of the trees around her as her sword joined the chorus. Aiden was among them.

  “I believe, that is your cue, Lord Hedron.” It felt strange for Reign to address her brother as Lord Kerr. She still reserved that title for her father.

  “Surrender,” Hedron demanded. It might have appeared a curious setting to an uninformed observer, the few demanding the many to yield.

  “Surrender and you will not be destroyed,” he assured them. No one on either side moved. “You must cease your attack! We will not fall this day! Surrender and live.” Still no one moved.

  Reign felt their approach with Crimson Snow through the crowd. Jayden. Evrin. Crimson growled, parting the soldiers on both sides for the Gyldenal leaders.

  Evrin looked pale and leaned heavily on Jayden and his staff for support. His stride was labored as he walked.

  “They do not speak this tongue,” Jayden said. “Nor is it their way to surrender. Their beliefs will not allow it. They must be offered a victory or they will die in pursuit of it.”

  “They shall have no victory here, Jayden,” Hedron said. “I will not allow it. If that is their decision, then they have chosen extinction, the same they have tried to levy upon us!”

  “They seek to abide by their honor, but there is a different way. Let me try.”

  In a rough and staccato sounding tongue, Jayden addressed the tense Borathein masses.

  “Vyath is pleased with you this day, but your Griptha is not yet fulfilled.”

  The Borathein warriors stirred with amazement to be spoken to in their own language. After a few moments, the murmurs died and a young warrior with a shorter beard the color of amber stepped forward. He had only a few ornaments in his beard.

  “I am Prethor, nephew to Deklar Shilkath. The Griptha stands open still, for the traitors still live.”

  “Your Deklar is no more, Prethor, nephew of Shilkath. The frozen plain has him now and he awaits you to free him.”

  Prethor was visibly shocked. “You speak our language, old mother. You encourage us to continue this battle against those with whom you are obviously aligned?”

  “I encourage no such thing, but your Griptha has been misplaced from the beginning. I speak the will of Vyath.”

  “You lie!” Prethor accused. “You know nothing of Vyath or our ways!”

  “Do I not?” Jayden asked calmly. “Tell me, Prethor, when Shilkath entered into his Griptha, whom did he kneel before at the altar of ice and bone?”

  The young warrior did not answer.

  “A Gründaalina, no doubt? And he opened his flesh with a wound across the chest by a blade of ice and a handle of stone?”

  “Who are you?” Prethor asked.

  “I am one who shares your blood, young Prethor; one who stood on the other side of Vyath’s altar for many years.”

  “You are a Gründaalina!” Prethor knelt before Jayden. A murmur swept through all present.

  “Once yes, and I suppose still, though I have not answered to that title for centuries. I witnessed the destruction of my people, those you claim to be here to avenge.”

  Prethor stood. “It’s not possible!” he protested. “That was—”

  “Four hundred and sixteen years ago. I was barely thirty and had given up the ways of the Dark by then. I found the Gyldenal and came to know the Living Light. Or, actually, they found me,” she said, looking at Evrin. His eyes were grayer than she remembered. Cloudy. “The Living Light is a sustaining Influence.”

  “The ways of Vyath are what we follow! I don’t know this Dark or Light you speak of! Only honorable conquest and the vanquishing of the enemy!”

  “All that seeks destruction of life is of the Ancient Dark, young one. And it is that darkness that you must turn your Griptha against. There is a mist that grows thicker in the world and the Light of all will be needed.”

  “I still do not know of what you speak, Gründaalina. But we will not surrender. We cannot.”

  Jayden’s tone turned biting. “It is not surrender. Pay attention, boy! There is a fight that will come, much greater than you now know or have known. You can live to see that fight and add your blades to ours or be cut down here and now.”

  Prethor looked away and paced. “We have people on the Ice Desert. We cannot go back to our lands. They are nothing.”

  “I agree, you cannot return,” Evrin said. Surprise registered on Prethor’s face to hear another voice in his tongue, but only briefly. Evrin’s gaze was unfocused. “Nor would we have you return. At this edge of your Ice Desert lays a forest, spacious and sparsely populated. It is cold but suitable for life. The Ice Desert recedes even now with fertile soil underneath. In years to come, you will plant crops and see your people grow.”

  “So that you can enslave us?” Prethor asked.

  “The Arlethian people do not take slaves,” Jayden said. “The Ancient Dark is strong in the world. Your people are needed.”

  Prethor pondered. His brow furrowed deeply.

  “I cannot make this decision. We must choose a Deklar and discuss it.”

  “You are Deklar now,” Jayden said in a loud voice for all to hear. She knew that her former position as a Gründaalina would carry weight. “You, Prethor, will make this decision and your people will follow. You still have many able warriors, many more wounded that need to see an end to this misplaced bloodshed.”

  Hedron watched, uneasy. It was a long silence that filled the time. Finally, Prethor approached Hedron. He tensed as the larger man came face to face with him and the two wolf cubs growled a low warning. Prethor raised a short blade between them and Thurik barked savagely, but t
he Borathein man made no threatening moves. Instead, he brought the blade to his beard and cut free a lock of it. He then reached forward to Hedron and held the freed strands of his beard out in his hand. Hedron was not sure what to do.

  “I think you’re supposed to take it,” Reign said.

  Hesitantly, and without diverting his eyes from Prethor’s, Lord Kerr took the offered token. Prethor nodded curtly and walked away. Hedron inspected the few tokens in it and saw one that was familiar. A small wooden wreath of Triarch leaves. His anger flared.

  “What just happened?” Hedron asked heatedly. “Did I just agree to something?”

  “You agreed to a pact,” Jayden replied. “A peace pact. This is not given lightly by Prethor. He is now the Borathein Deklar, what they call their leader.”

  “It is not accepted lightly either, Jayden! I did not knowingly agree to this.” He clutched Prethor’s shorn beard in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  “But it is right,” Reign said, attempting to calm her brother.

  “They invaded us! Unprovoked! Our dead litter this land. Soldiers, fathers, mothers and children alike! How can we allow a peace between us?”

  “You cannot see it, boy, but you will need them,” Jayden said.

  Hedron stiffened. “Jayden, you are dear to me for your protection of my sister and I in our youth and always will be. But, when you address me, it will be as a lord, not a boy.”

  Aiden looked away but could not hide his smile.

  Jayden stared and pursed her lips. She actually looked impressed, Hedron thought. “Very well, Lord Kerr. What is your decision, my Lord?”

  Prethor had stopped midstride at hearing what was obviously an argument, though he could not understand the words. His back was to them, but he glanced over his shoulder, waiting.

  Hedron struggled within himself. He could not forgive, not now. How could he even allow a peace after so much violation of his people and land? An anguished tear fell down his cheek as he looked at Seilia’s pendant. It symbolized so much to him of the sacrifices made.

  “They are pawns in a greater game, brother.” His sister’s words were soft. She took his hand with her Triarch leafling between their palms and pressed. She closed her eyes and waited.

  Hedron, came the voice in his mind. It was instantly familiar. He inhaled a slow breath that caught with unexpected emotion.

  “Threyil.”

  Hedron, you have been all I could have ever asked of a son. You protected my daughter and put her first your entire life. And now you have put our people first, defending and taking your place among them. I know this has come with great internal turmoil inside you.

  Hedron’s jaw tightened as he stifled more emotional tears from escaping his welling eyes.

  A lord must see beyond his emotions, son. He must do what is right, not what he wants. Put away the swords of our people and take up the hand of peace. The greater battle will yet come. You are a great man and I am proud to call you son.

  Reign slowly pulled her hand back, breaking the tender connection. Hedron didn’t control the tears that ran down his face but no sob escaped him. He breathed deeply and shuddered with emotion.

  Lord Kerr walked over to Prethor, who still stood warily with his back to them. Coming around to his front side, Hedron faced him. His upper lip curled and his jaw quivered. He thrust his sword down into the ground between them.

  “I cannot forgive you,” he said. “Nor your people. But peace is greater than either of us. Let us pray you keep it.” He extended his hand.

  It was obvious Prethor did not understand Lord Kerr’s words, but slowly reached his hand up to Hedron’s. The Deklar was uncertain of the tradition but took the outstretched hand. Lord Kerr squeezed tightly and Prethor squeezed back, matching his strength. Lord Kerr nodded and released his grip.

  “See to your people,” Lord Kerr admonished and Jayden translated. Prethor nodded in agreement and walked north. His soldiers, weary and bloodied, followed.

  Lord Kerr turned to Reign. “Let us see to our own people.”

  Reign smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Our people.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  Ryall

  Day 6 of 2nd Dimming 412 A.U.

  “SOMETHING’S GOING ON,” Holden said. It was early morning before their classes.

  “Huh?” Ryall asked lamely, not bothering to look up from his scroll.

  “I overheard several of the students talking about it yesterday. And the Vicars looked worried.”

  “Talking about what?”

  “Something in the west with the wood-dwellers. People are talking about an invasion or something.”

  Ryall shrugged. “Well they did break away from the Realm, right?”

  “Supposedly, yes.”

  “We don’t get much outside news in the monastery, you know that. It could just all be rumors someone started as a joke.”

  “But other kids are talking about an invasion from the north, as if people came from the glaciers. And the Vicars weren’t giving any answers when asked.”

  Again Ryall shrugged. “Maybe. What does that one say?” he asked his best friend as he put down yet another scroll. He was too attuned to the work at hand to be bothered with gossip.

  “Something about a caravan and a journey into the Schadar desert. Almost seems like it was much smaller then. More tolerable somehow, too, compared to what we know of it. Yours?”

  “Explorations of the mountains and valleys in the east. Boring. We must have come across an inlet that chronicled different exploration parties.”

  They had both become fairly proficient in translating the ancient Hardacheon language although it still took hours to read one small scroll. Many symbols were still unknown but due to the context of what they could read, it was possible to decipher the basic meaning of those symbols most of the time.

  “It’s not that boring,” Holden said. “I think it’s actually kind of neat.”

  “You would,” Ryall retorted with a yawn.

  The two of them had lined up all the scrolls that matched the Archiver tablets over the past few days and read every one. Being confined to bed rest had actually aided Ryall in his nocturnal visits to the cavern. Shortly after getting his friend assigned this punishment, Holden saw the merits of it and complained of similar symptoms, earning the same prescription of bed rest. Sleeping during the day and being excused from class for several days gave them the energy they needed to sort through all the tablets and matching scrolls.

  Since then the boys had desired to start visiting their discovery in the early morning instead of staying up all night. They understood now that the Archiver tablets were indeed copies of the corresponding scrolls after they found an endnote in the last scroll that was not translated to the appropriate tablet. The entry related that the Shrule had been taught the Senthary language and were requested to translate their recorded history from the scrolls they had always kept. Naturally, as the Hardacheons had been the rulers of the land, the Shrule spoke their language. Edemar Wellyn, around one hundred thirty years after unification, made the request as well as insisting that their history be recorded on obsidian tablets so as to last throughout all time. He was a significantly boisterous and arrogant ruler according to the record, boasting that the Senthary people would never be overrun or forced from their lands again. History, the friends noted, did not favor that statement.

  “I’m going to jump over a few rows,” Ryall said. “Maybe I can find something more worthwhile.”

  After grabbing one of the torches, he made his way across the cavern, passing the pool of water with stalactites and stalagmites that resembled a yellow open-mouthed drooling skull with large decayed fangs, and came to the far end of one side that met with another rough wall forming an obtuse sort of corner. Alcoves looking similar to all the others pocked the rock wall in front of him. The moisture was not helpful to the scrolls in this area, or any scroll down in this underground cave. But these inlets were much closer to the wa
ter than the others. Ryall wasn’t sure if the scrolls here were older or just more fragile due to the moisture. Gently, he reached in one inlet through some cobwebs and retrieved the single scroll therein. He unrolled it and brought his torch closer to bear its light upon the ancient document. Ryall started reading softly to himself.

  “Warriors of Light and Purveyors of Night—A Children’s Tale. What in the Burning Heavens?” After not getting more insight from his swearing, he called out, “Hey Holden, what the Ancients is a ‘purveyor’?” His voice echoed throughout the spacious underground, interrupting the constant mellow sound of drops from the stalactites hitting the water’s surface.

  Without looking up from the scroll he was hunched over across the room, Holden responded, “Well, genius, that’s like someone that promotes or directs something usually. How is it used?”

  “Uh, I think it says, Holden the Purveyor of Jackassery,” Ryall jabbed. No return came from Holden.

  Mumbling more to himself, Ryall wondered, “What kind of kid’s story uses words like that? Must’ve messed with their heads a bit.” He continued to read: “There is Light and Dark. One shines in the day, the other takes the night. Every day, the sun chases the moons as a master after his wayward dogs until he is too weary to continue. While the sun sleeps, the moons play, each taking its turn in the realm of night. Only then, when the sun slumbers, can the lesser powers prevail. When they hear the sun waking from his sleep, they run and hide again.”

  Seriously? Ryall chuckled to himself.

  Despite his humor and sensing that his time might be wasted, he continued to read. “This is the tale of one whose day has passed and now sleeps as the sun does at night. Toth, storyweaver, came journeying from a land far from here. He told stories of lands that lived forever with people who lived as long as the oldest trees now live. ‘Where did they go?’ his listeners would ask, but Toth could never answer with more than guesses. He told the people that when it was their time again, they would emerge from earth, trees, rain, and light to restore what once was. But for now, this could not be, for the people loved the night more than day, the moons more than the sun.”