Thorne's Conquest

by Matthew Cuthbert

  An alchemist’s dream, one Helsifer could not let herself believe. If she expected defeat and death, at least the pain of her Kingdom’s demise would not bare disappointment with it. She would shed no tears when she died. The ability to fight until their last breath was one of the few qualities Thorne actually admired in Chronians. It commanded respect- but not mercy. Thorne had the opportunity to show mercy to the slaver who killed his friend almost four years ago; any shred of it he had at that moment had been totally wiped out. All that remained was ambition and the dream of a united Visyria. A deathly dream that would cost millions their lives in the wake of his Power and bloodlust.

  In the distance she could still see the smoke rising on the horizon from atop the gargantuan walls of Disideris. Eltinor had held 40,000 warriors, now it held only Thorne and his armies. Disideris had a garrison of over 200,000 and Helsifer’s cavalry unit was one of many regiments of 10,000 riders each. It would not be enough. Thorne alone had wiped out an army of spirits- humans must look like ants to him. Helsifer wondered what she would have done with such raw, unopposed power. Would she have been like him? As the Crown-Princess she had slaughtered countless people from the island-states north of Chrone, but as Queen she tried to devote more time to helping her people. She had failed. Perhaps if she had shown more mercy to her enemies in the past, they would have answered her call to arms. Instead they had abandoned her as she had chosen to neglect and torment them. Blood will have blood, and Helsifer was about to find her share.

  Chapter 20

  The Crown-Princess of Chrone had just uttered her first words, but instead of rejoicing with pride and adoration, Odyneus Kar wept quietly. He wondered for how long her words would be heard - whether her delicate, innocent voice would be drowned out by Thorne’s flood of destruction. The Chronians had a legend of a flood. It was said in stories and folktales that a Great Flood had wiped out the Earth millennia ago, when Artemis had called upon the tides to rise up and envelop the sinful people who had rejected her. Was this a second cleansing strike from their deity? Had Chrone really strayed so far from righteousness that the only solution was their death? Thorne clearly believed this, but staring into the innocent, ocean-blue eyes of his only daughter, Odyneus Kar knew he was wrong. Although Helsifer may not have been a perfect Queen, she did not deserve to be exterminated with her people. If she surrendered perhaps Thorne would show her mercy, but Odyneus knew Helsifer better than that and did not know Thorne well enough. Helsifer would never surrender and Thorne would certainly never offer mercy to a creature he viewed as insignificant. Rumours of his previous war had reached Chrone, some even told of him sparing Arkathor’s King. This was different. Thorne was now only interested in the eradication; the Queen’s life was of no importance to him. If her god was real, he believed himself to be more powerful than her anyway.

  Perhaps one day, Death himself would tremble before Thorne. If not, Odyneus was sure that he would simply shake hands with the conqueror who had granted him so many souls. The rumours said that Thorne had his sights on the whole of Visyria- with the might of Chrone, Arkathor, and Varrasia behind him who could stop him? Little was known about the Western people of Anvylla and Mjolnos, but it was assumed that given the treacherous nature of their continents the people would not be numerous. Even if there were a few bustling metropolises, surely they could not hold enough capable soldiers to prevent Thorne’s armies crushing them- if they ever made it across the sea. All who had tried did not return and no traveller from Anvylla or Mjolnos had ever reported anyone from the East arriving in their Kingdoms. Something was out there: maybe not the nightmares and horror stories that children thought up around campfires, but still powerful enough to keep people from crossing its waters.

  As Elrya continued to cry and gurgle, the word she had spoken echoed sadly into the thin air, a quiet “Mama.” that hit Odyneus with all the emotional weight of its broken promise. She could not protect her, and neither could he- not for certain. Thorne could climb the mountains and kill them all if he found out where they were; there was nowhere to run this high above the clouds. The rumours were now saying Thorne could even fly. Helsifer tried to keep him updated with ravens but sending too many would give Thorne a sense that there was something or someone important up in the mountains. Running had never been on Helsifer’s mind though. She was given the opportunity to run four months ago after the first invasion reports arrived in Disideris; they could have left, abandoned their country and sailed anywhere but here. Nowhere would have been safe for them: the Queen and her Consort would forever hold influence as monarchs and the rightful rulers of Chrone- he had to eradicate their lineage and any claim to the throne. Elrya’s crying grew louder as if she heard his thoughts.

  Trying to soothe her, he began to sing softly, his quiet voice sounding out over the Kaasi mountains and warming the hearts of even the most misogynistic Chronian warrior. Even Elrya calmed after a time; it was important she kept her energy. Even beneath all the blankets, the cold was still treacherous to the tiny infant. They were nearly at the entrance to Ra’thil territory now and the Royal Guard walked with their weapons in hand. The risk of offence was worth the defence against instant death in an ambush. Pressing on further and higher into the treacherous domain of the mountain tribe, Odyneus suddenly felt a mysterious calm, as if a great power was reaching out to him, comforting him through the most fearful moments of his life.

  Interrupting his brief moment of peace, a group of Ra’thil tribesmen emerged from nowhere, surrounding the party in an instant. “Our request was simple, stay away from us and we stay away from you.” A man Odyneus assumed was their leader began in harsh, xenophobic tones. He was referencing Helsifer’s decision to stop trying to tax them nearly two years ago. They had not been seen below the mountains since. A little slow, Odyneus realised they probably had no idea about what had happened in the last four months.

  “We come as refugees, not warriors. Clearly, we do not have the strength to fight you. Chrone is at war, Ra’thillite, and we have all but lost.” Odyneus spoke as their leader; the men of the Ra’thil tribes had no misconceptions about his gender and he seemed the logical choice as a previous ambassador to the tribes. Upon hearing his words, Odyneus thought he might have seen fear or grief flash across the man’s face. He had tattoos across his bald head that seemed to emanate fear. Before long, his face returned to its hostile, uncaring expression.

  “Chrone never came to our aid when we were starving in the winters- during the months before the peace, you raided our supplies, killed our warriors, why should we help you?” Odyneus realised his words could not erase the decades of conflict. Logical pleas would make no difference at this point, so he simply begged.

  “Whatever injustices have been done to you in the past, I swear to you this child does not deserve the fate that awaits her back in Disideris.” The Ra’thillite had not even noticed the babe wrapped up around Odyneus chest. “If you cannot forgive us- take her at least. She is innocent in all of this, don’t let my daughter die because of our mistakes. Please. I have nothing to offer. Nothing to trade; I beg you, look after her if not the rest of us.”

  The Ra’thil may have been hostile, even contemptuous towards outsiders but they were not evil- even they could see the horror of a child being a victim of war. The only decision was whether to let the rest of Odyneus party stay in their territory. Among them, the Ra’thillite leader recognised the Queen’s medical advisor, and saw women he assumed were Queen’s Guard. After a hasty decision he addressed them, “The Crown-Princess is welcome in our tribe. Odyneus, you and the healer may also attend but make no mistake, you are not welcome. As for the rest of you, go. You are able-bodied: return to Disideris to defend your country. Perhaps this war is not as lost as you think.”

  “It’s your country too!” One of the Queen’s Guard erupted. Words falling on deaf ears. She did not persist, even if the Ra’thil joined the fight their small numbers would not be enough to turn the tide. The Queen’s Guard a
ccompanying them left, and the Ra’thil led Odyneus, Ajor, and Elrya to their home in the mountains. It would take weeks for Thorne to reach them if he found out where they were; if that happened, they would die before Elrya’s first Birthday. Watching Thrax closely, Odyneus wondered if he would ever be able to use the vial of poison, he had been asked to take with him; it killed quietly, without pain- but could Odyneus really murder his daughter? Even if it was to save her from a worse fate, at least if it was by Thorne’s hands there would be no blood on his own. A painful murder by an enemy or a painless euthanasia by a father: this war brought evil from evil; death from death.

  ***

  With soulless, dead eyes, Barros watched as Myfisto and the Vampire Queen sat cross-legged on the floor of the Black Hall, facing each other. The magical trance they were in required immense concentration and power, but the Vampire Queen had insisted Barros be allowed to watch so that he could learn from their combined strength. She believed his magical ability would make him a valuable addition to the Vampiric hosts- perhaps he could even rise to a commander. While the vampires’ magic worked differently to the mortal kind to which Barros was accustomed, many of its skills were transferrable. Vampires only retained a connection to their chosen specialism; their magic was fuelled by a strange undying enchantment that allowed them to command the Power from the other side. Since Barros had not finished his training and had not chosen a specialism, his magic latched to the strongest, most recent aspect of his mystical abilities: his healing. This was the Queen’s personal choice of magical ability but was rare among vampires given their unique anatomy. In time, Barros would be able to heal just as effectively as when he had been a man- for now, however, the powers of the Vampire Queen seemed strange and unattainable.

  The particular spell Barros witnessed had no name or classification; it was a pure outpouring of strength and magic. Myfisto’s red haze pulsated ominously around the hall, the black-red hue giving it a bloody look that Barros guessed was the reason for its name: The Blood Castle. The strongest fortress in the world before the armies of the living had united against Myfisto’s armies and banished him here. His monstrous castle had been locked away from the rest of the world with a Covenant that had nearly broken. Once the monarchs of the Aether finally destroyed it, they would descend on the world in hellfire until nothing remained but them and their undead subjects. Unless Barros stopped them. He had to be subtle, careful, ingeniously creative if he wanted to succeed but a plan was already forming in his lifeless brain.

  The red glow around them grew brighter as malevolence filled the air and the thunder and crackle of red lightning spat from their aura. Barros knew that they were using the newly discovered weakness in their prison to send a message to Thorne; they hoped he would travel to Arctas Aeternas to release them once and for all. Barros listened with his magical ear as their ethereal cries were felt across the currents of the Power until they reached Thorne at Eltinor.

  Thorne! The commander gasped as he felt a voice in his mind, the sudden evil presence within him making him shudder. Once he recovered from the shock, he felt nothing more than curiosity: someone was powerful enough to penetrate the outer layer of his mind without physical proximity- not only that but the presence he felt was born of power and darkness, just as he was. This time, Thorne opened his mind willingly, allowing a connection to form with the strange being.

  Identify yourself, spirit. The connection gave him a vague idea of how far away it was, it could have still been within Chrone, but it was certainly not a void-spirit. In fact, the being was majestic. The brief glimpse into its evil Thorne had first experienced was harrowing, but with a full link to Myfisto’s malice and fury, Thorne seemed almost cute in comparison. Thorne was not a fan of cruelty for cruelty’s sake; he was not a sadist; he only knew that some things had to be done no matter the cost. While he waited for a response, Thorne felt pure, unadulterated hatred that came from strife, betrayal, and thousands of years in seething rage.

  Can’t-. -old it. F- long. Co- to Arc- Aeternas… Fr—me. FREE US! Myfisto’s hazy message was intriguing, but Thorne had no intentions of travelling north until the war was won. Perhaps this was another hostile spirit trying to lure him into a trap- even if it was, he would go eventually. Curiosity would have killed Thorne a long time ago if he had been a lesser man.

  Terribly sorry, creature, but I am a little preoccupied. It seems you already have an understanding of patience though… Yes, I can feel the years on you, achingly long, but with… solace? Something else is lending you its power even now- something… Thorne broke away from the connection as he felt the soul of the strange being that had called out to him with the spirit. No- it was impossible. It was a trick- more foul magic of the Barbarian land. The presence he felt was not who he thought- he had not recognised anything. Before Thorne could continue his denial, he felt another calling, but this time it was the spirit lending its power to the other, who spoke to him in soothing, maternal tones.

  My son, Thorne new instantly that he had been right, the feminine presence he had felt only in dreams and not been close to in nearly four decades.

  Mother? Thorne felt a burning desire in him that he had tried to extinguish as a child, but some things can never truly be undone. He longed to be held in her arms the way he should have been as a child; life had taken that away from him. The only mentor he ever had was driven only by ambition, seeking to use Thorne for what he could do as Archmage, how he could shape Visyria. No one had ever loved Thorne because he was theirs. Even Sylestra had fallen in love with him, gradually growing her affection for him as time went on. No one had shown Thorne true, unconditional love. Like every orphan boy, he yearned for it. It felt so close, so attainable, but before he could reach out or listen for a reply the connection broke, leaving Thorne shocked and bewildered on the forest floor of Eltinor.

  The King and Queen of the Dead were cast back into Exile as their power failed. Myfisto’s arrogant laughter boomed across the Black Hall in glorious triumph- his freedom was nearly here! While Thorne’s words of patience were bitterly true, Myfisto’s joy would last longer than the wait. If it took another thousand years, he would have still persisted in exacting revenge on the descendants of those who had banished him here. Thorne’s mother, on the other hand, was not rejoicing with her spouse. Instead, her crystal tears fell quietly on the hall in a boiling mixture of grief and love at the much-too-short reunion. Finally, aware of her turmoil, Myfisto took her hand with the spiritual apparition of his, and whispered soothingly, “You will have time to answer him, I swear it.” The potency and authority of his words seemed to strengthen her, and they rose together as a single, majestic, hellish couple. Perhaps the most powerful beings in all of creation, they were so certain of their strength and inevitable success that they did not notice Barros quietly using the remnants of their power to send his own message back to Thorne. Trap. Imprisoned. Don’t let them out. He had focused with incredible concentration to get the succinct message through. Thorne did not answer but Barros knew he had heard. However, he still had no idea if Thorne would heed his warning.

  Chapter 21

  With Helsifer’s words hanging in the air, her advisors and commanders were not afraid; they accepted their certain demise with dignity, the way a true warrior of Chrone should. Thoughts flew across their minds about their families in the catacombs beneath the city and in the mountains. They wondered whether Thorne really was as vile as the rumours said- if he really did have a vendetta so great he would slaughter children to rid the world of their people. A thousand years of culture and history would be wiped out in the coming weeks; Thorne was going to burn their world down so it did not take up space in his. Helsifer’s speech had been mighty and proud, defiant in the face of Death. But empty. Honour is a tale told by an idiot, glory was of no use to them in death. Artemis promised no afterlife, no reward for service in death, only her aid in life. Whether the people had been abandoned, shunned, or if their deity even existed, Helsifer did
not know- she no longer cared. The only philosophy she still held was to go down fighting. Convincing her warriors to do the same had been sadly easy. There was no struggle, no desperate attempt at life, only an acrimonious desire to take the enemy down with them.

  Once Helsifer finished with her orders and the preparations she took a last moment to observe the Great Hall of Disideris: the place where she had been raised, taught to fight, crowned, married, raised children of her own. Her life had been easy, even in battle, until Thorne’s invasion four months ago. He had shown her what it meant to be afraid- to be pathetic. Concluding her last look at home, Helsifer walked to the fields outside the walls of the city, the gate closing behind her since all her warriors had already assembled around the defences. Countless archers lined the walls, a mixture of commoners and trained warriors. Trebuchets with enough ammunition to destroy a city lined the walls, their range reaching far out past the furthest defences. The largest force ever created from Chronian warriors was spread among spiked entrenchments, ramparts, small stone walls: they stretched for miles, and Helsifer was surprised at the vast number who had come to her aid in the continent’s last stand. The recent reports said that the army on the field was 450,000 strong, divided into battlaions of warriors numbering 9,000 each. The traditional warriors lined the outer defences forming a shieldwall. The Royal Cavalry were waiting on the flanks, ready to sweep in and crush any overextended Varrasian soldiers. A mixture of fighters with their own personal weapons were positioned among the immense number of defences. It had taken two months for Helsifer to turn Disideris into a fortifed city and gather these armies; she wondered how long it would take Thorne to raise it all to the ground. Seeing how small his camp had been only enraged Helsifer more. Her people had been brought to the brink of extinction by a force almost eight times smaller than her own, and they must have killed at least a third of them in the surprise attack at Caira. The battle-weary survivors had taken Eltinor and wiped out the Chronian spirits as quickly as if they were sweeping away the leaves.