by Neil Breault
“Tomorrow I want to capture one of the attackers. Maybe they can give us some answers.”
***
Their arrival at the last village found much the same as the previous villages: no life anywhere and completely abandoned buildings. Perim held a brief meeting with his officers to discuss their plans for arriving at Enhurst. He excused his officers afterward, but Dryos stayed behind. Perim did not question why Dryos had not left. Eventually Dryos sat in a chair in the corner. Perim could not sleep and paced about his tent. He heard soft snoring coming from Dryos, as he had fallen asleep in the chair. Perim envied the General and wondered if he should sleep but knew there would be another attack soon. Instead of waiting for the alarm to be raised, he left his tent and walked around the camp. Where he should have found sleeping soldiers he discovered many had caught his insomnia while they awaited the inevitable. Every soldier saluted him as he walked by.
Perim’s runic armor had fully sheathed his body before the alarm finished sounding. He rushed to greet their captive but when he arrived he was surprised by what he saw. The infiltrators had chosen an opportune time to attack. The largest of the guard relief was happening, leaving only a handful of his soldiers actively watching for a few moments. Several enemies were dead, but Perim was dismayed that some of his soldiers were wounded and possibly dead as well. Just outside of crossbow range stood a young girl. He could not tell her exact age but did not think her out of childhood. She grasped the same style curved blade as all of the other dead enemies, but hers dripped with fresh blood. With a blank face, she darted forwarded.
“Take her alive!”
The nearest soldier attempted to throw a net at the girl. The net had not left his hands before she had ducked underneath and sliced through his neck. This did not slow her down as she rounded on the next soldier, leaping on him and stabbing her dagger into his chest. She jumped off his body toward Perim.
The remaining soldiers quickly nocked arrows and let them loose at the girl. She deftly dodged each arrow and this brought her close enough to leap at Perim. He had been ready for the attack and parried her blade with his conjured rune sword. The curved blade broke in half with a flash and the girl stepped back with a surprised look on her face.
“Girl, I don’t want—“
She recovered quickly and leapt at Perim again, now with a smaller blade in hand. He had not seen her grab the knife and was almost caught off guard. He barely dodged her attacks and brought his knee up fast in to her chest. She fell to the ground, but before Perim could reach her she sprang back up, knife still in hand and aimed at him. She came at Perim with a ferocity he did not expect. His resolve to not hurt her and capture her started to wane. Her blade scored a few hits against his runic armor but it only sparked magic. With each attack her effort and savagery were redoubled. He was not sure how long he could keep fighting the girl like this. He saw no other way to stop her and disarmed her the quickest way he could—he slashed his blade through her wrist. She did not slow down when his blade sliced her hand cleanly off and instead tried to stab him with her bloody arm. His soldiers had circled the two of them and were slowly moving in to grab the girl.
Perim had taught his soldiers well and maneuvered the girl and himself so she could not see the net. She raised an eyebrow at Perim and cocked her head. She seemed to have read the situation and leapt backwards. The soldiers did not hesitate and lunged to take her down. She sidestepped the soldiers and from nowhere drew another knife. She leapt backward once again and stopped. The blade rested against her own neck. Perim released his blade and it disappeared. He then raised his empty hands to the girl. No longer could he see the ferocity in her eyes. She stared Perim down with no emotion showing on her face, still holding the knife to her throat. When Perim took a step towards her, she drew the blade across her throat.
He walked over to her body and squatted down beside her. Close up, he thought she could only have been fourteen or fifteen. Her youthfulness was marred by several cuts on her arms and legs. At first he thought they were from his fight but the locations of the cuts were impossible with his sword. As he scrutinized the cuts it dawned on him they were deliberate and appeared to be rudimentary runes. Looking closer at the rest of her body he could see scars of varying ages all over that were also runic in nature. The curved blade she attacked him with lay close to her. He picked up the blade carefully, and what he had thought to be blood was in fact darker and slicker. The patch of grass where he had picked up the blade was brown and dead. He had never seen or heard of anything like this before. This was no ordinary attack. She had been an assassin.
“Burn all the bodies. Don’t touch anything that doesn’t look natural,” said Perim as he indicated the grass with the blade. “Captain, send three of your fastest men to my tent in one hour.”
The Captain saluted and ordered the soldiers to get the bodies. Perim went back to his tent. He found Dryos still asleep on the chair. Finding it a bit odd his battle-hardened general would have missed an alarm, he walked over to the man. The handle of a blade similar to the girl’s protruded from Dryos’s back. The wound appeared black and charred. Only a small amount of blood had leaked out of the wound. Cursing himself, Perim quickly looked around the room but found no hidden assassin or invisible warriors.
He sat down at his desk and penned several quick letters back to Valefort. The Captain and messengers found Perim standing in front of Dryos’s body. He was aware of their presence but did not acknowledge them until the captain cleared his throat. Perim handed over letters and told them to leave immediately.
“Sire,” said the Captain, “what happened? Who killed Dryos?”
“I don’t know. It could’ve been the same girl from earlier, or another unknown assassin. It’s a shame we don’t have time for a proper funeral. All of Ternia should mourn Dryos’s loss. Burn his body as well, but make a separate pyre. We can at least give him some measure of respect.”
“Uh, sire?”
“Yes?”
“You want us to burn Dryos’s body?”
“Yes. We have no time for tradition. Those responsible will be hunted down and brought to swift justice. It is time we bring the fight to them. Tomorrow we march on Enhurst and burn it to the ground.”
Chapter 5
Emissary
As Mikol walked to Omoni’s study, he stepped in front of the raven courtyard, thinking back to the last time he had seen Arceri. A thick layer of snow now covered the ground. It had been the driest winter he could remember, and only a few days ago did it snow. He had continued to train every day, even after the tournament had been canceled. The only courtyard he could use for practice was too far away from Voletain’s study to get to on a daily basis. He had tried to train during the night but it became too exhausting, and he made more mistakes in his training with swords and with runes because of it. Voletain never said anything, but Mikol could always tell when Voletain was unhappy. He had stopped training with swords as much and focused on learning about becoming Archon. He sighed and continued on to Omoni’s study.
The door was open and Omoni sat behind his desk poring over another large tome. Mikol was sure Omoni had been waiting for him as he quickly set aside the tome and motioned for Mikol to close the door and sit down.
“It seems Voletain wants me to discuss the Warden sect with you today,” said Omoni.
“Yes. Your sect is the last one I need to learn about. Voletain himself taught me about Eocara’s sect recently, as he has still not returned from Highbarrow with Arceri.”
“Dead, most likely,” said Omoni as he grabbed another tome from his shelf. “It is a pity. Eocara and I agreed on many things. The other preceptors do not view the Wardens with much respect. But should we stop protecting them from the Savage Kingdoms, they’d get angry. These are things you will inherit when you become Archon age-old arguments that do not die.”
Omoni opened the tome to a picture of Anglantaea. There were small inscriptions all over the map and it made it hard
to make out anything specific. Omoni traced several small runes on the map and the map expanded up and off the book. All of the passages were now floating above the map and had a small blue tether that tied them to a place on the map. Mikol reached out and touched one of the passages. It grew larger while the others shrank, making the entry easier to read.
“This is our catalog of battles against blood magic,” said Omoni. He pointed to several passages at random. “Every time the sect gets a report from a warden patrol in the world it is recorded here. This tome lists encounters from just after the Great War up to now. We have been able to track many of the blood magic cults over the centuries, and on several occasions we thought we had destroyed the scourge, only to have it resurface somewhere else in the world.”
Omoni pointed to three separate passages indicating the blood magic threat had been eradicated, and then to three more dated shortly after each where blood magic had been spotted once again.
“Why does it come back?” asked Mikol.
“That is a question that every preceptor and Archon has asked when they look at this map. It is a question I ask myself every day. The main reason is that, unlike our runic magic, blood magic uses the power within a person. You only need to be taught what to do and you can use blood magic. Anyone can learn our runic magic, but it would be useless to them without being attuned to the magic itself. Speaking of useless, where is the bumbling friend of yours?”
“I have asked him to watch the main gate for any messengers from Arceri or Perim. And he is not useless, we’ve done a lot together. I have known him since before I can remember.”
“That is my point, Mikol. As you are becoming more learned as apprentice Archon you need to devote more time to study. He is only slowing you down and will provide nothing for your future. When you become Archon you will have even fewer friends than you do now.”
“Because I will be the head of the sanctuary?”
“No,” said Omoni. “Because you will outlive everyone but the king.” Omoni stopped for a moment. “Whoever ends up being king. How long has it been since we have heard from Perim?”
“Three months. But I know Arceri and Perim are both alive.”
“You’ve led a very sheltered life here in Valefort. I don’t know if I should pity you or envy you. There is much you still need to learn and much you will experience. It is best if you distance yourself from those that are close to you. Their deaths will only hurt you.”
“I don’t see how having a friend will hurt me when I am Archon. Especially one I have known my whole life.”
“You should ask Voletain about it. But I can assure you that if you sever your connections now it will help you stay sane in the future.”
They were interrupted by a quick knock followed by the door opening. Bayle rushed in to the room looking for Mikol before stopping and becoming momentarily distracted by the glowing map on the table.
“What is it, Bayle?” asked Mikol.
“Uh, yes, there is a messenger. I am not sure from whom though. He was ushered away quickly to the throne room.”
“Sorry, Omoni. This could be important. We shall continue this another time.”
Mikol barely acknowledged Omoni’s bow as he and Bayle left the office.
***
When they arrived in the throne room the messenger stood patiently in front of the king. Mikol saw that he had not been acknowledged by the king, who sat sleeping on the throne. One of the servants was trying to gently wake up the king. Mikol did not recognize the man, but he wore a Ternian uniform.
“What news do you have?”
“Prince Perim told me to only speak with the King.”
“I am Prince Mikol. It will be some time before the king is awake.” They both looked up at Raifaran, who had turned onto his side despite the pleadings of the man trying to wake him up. The man’s conflicted gaze shifted back and forth between Mikol and the king. Mikol thought the man was trying to will the king awake. After several moments the messenger relented and handed the missive over to Mikol. Mikol saw Perim’s royal seal still intact, securing the contents within. The small flash that occurred when Mikol broke the seal made the man jump backward. Mikol smirked silently to himself. He knew the message could have been safely handed to anyone, but only one of royal blood could have read it. Mikol read the message hoping there would be good news within. He could not decide if the message was good or bad.
Mikol motioned for the messenger to follow and they slowly walked towards the king. He read the message three more times to make sure he did not miss anything. When they got to the first step Mikol motioned for the messenger to wait. Continuing up the stairs, Mikol saw that Raifaran had awoken but was looking around slowly. He bowed quickly and stepped up to his father’s side.
“Father. We have news from Perim.” The king looked at Mikol, blinking. After a moment he smiled up at his son and gestured for his wine glass. “There is not much news. He has secured the countryside and is marching on to Enhurst. They have had nightly skirmishes with blood mages, but they have quickly defeated them. But it is dated over a month ago.”
The large doors at the front of the room opened and a guard hurried in to the room. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and bowed low.
“Sire, there is another messenger.”
“Two in one day?” said Mikol. “This could be from Arceri.”
“Sorry, no, Your Highness,” said the guard. “The messenger is from the Sibilovan Army. He has a message for the king.”
Raifaran perked up at this and looked directly at the guard.
“Go on,” said Raifaran.
“He–he says it is terms of Ternia’s surrender.”
The same servant who had woken him had just entered with more wine. For the first time since Mikol could remember, Raifaran turned the servant away with the wine. The king stood up and made a few motions with his hands, and his whole appearance changed. The wine-stained clothing was replaced with flowing regal robes. He stood high and portrayed an aura that Mikol had only seen from portraits of the king in his youth, hundreds of years ago.
“Bring him in.”
The guard waved through the still open door. Moments later more guards entered, escorting another messenger. Mikol looked the man over. Even with a clean and polished appearance he was not what Mikol would have expected to see in a man demanding the surrender of your kingdom. They stopped well away from the throne but close enough that the man did not have to speak loudly. He unfurled a sheet of paper.
“I am an Emissary on behalf of the rightful king of Anglantaea, the descendent of Tanris, first son of King Ioyan, the benevolent king Kagarin Delvmight. After uniting the once savage kingdoms once again into the mighty nation of Sibilova, he has proclaimed the exiled kingdom of Ternia should once again be part of this realm. The king is offering amnesty if Ternia and her king surrender to him. He does not wish bloodshed and only wishes to make Anglantaea whole again.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Ternia will return to Sibilova. It is only a matter of time and lives.”
“I see. And where is this usurper? Why does he not show himself today?” said Raifaran.
“I am an Emissary of the king. I have here to accept your surrender. I have been instructed to deliver his will and see it enacted as I will be the Regent until he returns. Will you surrender for the benefit of your people?”
“I have seen many the likes of this warlord before. I have heard his message. I do not accept his will any more than I would a fly. Like those before him I will not bow to a petty man. Furthermore, I do not recognize any descendent of the exiled traitor Tanris. He died thousands of years ago with no children. Throw this miscreant into the dungeon. I will hear no more of this.”
The man tried to run but only managed to get tangled in his own legs as the guards grabbed him. They dragged him out while he was kicking and screaming. He started to curse at people and was silenced by one of the guards with a fist. Mikol looked at his fat
her with awe. He had been at court many times before but had never seen Raifaran address anyone with such fervor. The facade did not last, and when Raifaran plopped back down on the throne the magic had fallen and his unkempt, stained clothing returned. His wine glass was returned to his hand by the same servant who had been turned away.
***
Mikol could not sleep after finally getting word from one of his brothers and wandered the halls of Valefort. Mikol had told Bayle to stay away for a few days. Mikol had relied on their friendship since he was a child and could not fathom what he would do without Bayle. Becoming Archon should not change his friendships. He knew his duties to the kingdom would become more important than any one relationship. As he thought about what it would be like to be Archon he could not recall seeing Voletain in a social gathering. Council meetings and other necessary functions aside, the only person Mikol could see Voletain being himself with was the king. There was never a time Mikol had seen Voletain doing anything that was not for the kingdom. Surprised at where he had walked, Mikol found himself just outside of Voletain’s study.
Light spilled out of the doorway into the hall beyond. Mikol knocked lightly on the door. He was answered immediately by Voletain telling him to enter.
“Mikol, what brings you to grace my presence this evening?’ said Voletain.
Mikol opened his mouth to speak but found he could not. He licked his lips and looked away.
“I–I don’t know if I want to be Archon.”
Voletain smiled and motioned for Mikol to sit beside him.
“There is nothing wrong with being afraid, my child.”
“It’s not that. I’m not afraid.”
“Why do you not want to be Archon?”
“Well, I do want to be Archon, but I don’t want to be alone.”
“Alone? What do you mean, alone? I am hardly alone, my son. What brought this up?”
“During our session today, Omoni told me what it would be like to be Archon.”