Our last day together was spent completely alone enjoying a picnic under the tranquil blossomed Halíkan trees in the 6th Corridor garden. The memory remained more poignant because they were the trees after which my mother named me. After her passing, my father dedicated the garden to her memory. We sat underneath the trees, enjoying the easiness of each other, while pale flowers above our heads dropped one by one from the branches like a fragrant, scattered rain. The white blossoms fell into our hair, our clothes, and even our food. But we didn’t care.
For a moment we were quiet, listening to the gentle breeze. And then he finally confided about a hidden secret love that he could no longer conceal. He explained about a woman, and the love that had grown over time and over years. A love so great that he’d had to bury it from everyone because of the controversy it would cause.
I remembered sitting up and folding my hands in my lap. Swallowing down my painful heartbeat, I turned away from words I didn’t wanted to hear. I always knew the day would come. That he would meet another from his own kind. Until he pulled me closer and revealed that it was me.
I was the one he loved. He loved me with all his heart. His beautiful words still echo in my ears.
The following day, chaos ensued. The Primords broke the truce and attacked a foot patrol doing recon in the Minor. We had no warning other than heads of the soldiers hurled over our barricades like ricochet balls from the olden days. The unlawful killing had caught us unprepared. As war started again, the Xipilés were forced to flee in their transport vessel back to their own planet.
Not a day went by when I didn’t think of him.
Ever since, I’d been fighting in brawls and clashes around the outer city, the Minor. Sometimes I strayed with my men to the plain behind to kill minority groups hoping to join with the Primord renegades. I never had a moment’s peace. Always at the front of the danger. After Nerí left, I returned to my role as Overlord with reluctant ease.
The horizon was changing. A thin black line drew nearer, growing ever thicker. I took another glance at my brother, his face mixed with the excitement of his first opportunity to see our enemy approach. He knew our time was almost here.
Jerik wanted to fight our last battle at the 1st Corridor by my side. Remembering my own first experience of the 1st—the blood spilt, the elation of victory combined with a need to mourn—even in the horror of what was to come, I didn’t want to spoil it for him. But he was our future king, the people’s hope. When Capíok Dacomé finally died, Jerik would take over the rule. Jerik was levelheaded, had a good heart, and I had no doubt he would make an excellent king. But he was young and still needed to be safeguarded.
He turned and looked over his shoulder as I continued to watch the outer city and the horizon.
“The captains have arrived for your orders, Hally,” he said quietly.
The eight captains of each corridor climbed the twenty-metre high observation tower one by one and stood in a semicircle in front of us. Orthían, the most experienced captain, was my second-in-command and first to arrive. He would stay at the 1st Corridor with me. The others would each take charge of another corridor.
All of us had grown used to this early morning ritual over the years. We normally chatted about light topics—the colour of the sky, star showers, the weather, news from the inner city—any opportunity to find normality in this madness. The captains, six men and two women, would joke about anything other than the brutality we would face that day.
I shook hands with all of them. Captain Orelían patted Jerik on the back.
“So, had enough of the 1st yet? I told you we had a better view from our annex!” she said jovially. Captain Orelían had been a good leader for Jerik to learn from. She was also a mind-speaker. When the previous captain of the 5th had been cleaved down in a brawl, I’d promoted her over the bigger, stronger potentials. Having a mind-speaker in my group of captains was essential for when I needed an order carried out that I couldn’t physically give. She was younger than the others and led her soldiers with a firm but optimistic air.
Jerik guffawed. “You know, I’d really like to stay with my sister for this one, Orelían.”
“You’re brave, young one, but you know the king won’t allow that,” Orelían continued. “No. Unless Halíka Dacomé grants it, you should come back with me when the fighting starts. Sorry. Orders are orders.”
Jerik looked at me mournfully, but respectfully pleaded. “Halíka Dacomé, please let me stay here, I beg you.”
“Sorry, Jer, I can’t do it.” I shook my head.
“Don’t look so disheartened, lad,” Larník, an older captain said. “Your father wanted you to gain battle experience and you’ve seen more than enough with your own captain.”
“Larník’s right. The 1st is no place for you yet,” I added.
“But I am ready,” he pleaded again.
“No!”
I saw the captains flinch as I used my Order voice. The sound of dual tones and a deeper timbre would’ve been felt like a shock on their nerves and in their heads. I hated using it but I needed Jerik to understand that my final orders should be obeyed not questioned.
Father insisted on Jerik’s need for battle experience. I’d been against my brother joining the war altogether, but we’d agreed on a compromise. To his credit, Jerik had fought well in his skirmishes so far. However, the difference between the 5th Corridor, near the back of the city, and my position on the 1st was significant. The 5th Corridor was small and tight and under the watchful eye of Captain Orelían, whom I trusted.
In the low sun’s rise, two sparrow hawks flew overhead from the north towards the horizon. We watched their playful flight. I yearned to be mischievous and carefree again like the old days and remember what it was like to be a daughter of the king.
To touch the finery of beautiful clothes and feel the rich, soft fabrics against my skin, instead of the rough grey tunic, skirt, and heavy armour I now wore. I longed to taste delicious pastries from the palace kitchens and savour the juices pressed from mountain berries on my tongue. Food that I hadn’t summoned from the ground to prevent starvation. Fluid that I hadn’t divined from the earth to relieve the gut-wrenching thirst.
As the sparrow hawks dipped in and out of each other’s paths, I felt the sudden urge to run forward, or to flee backward.
Yet, I would do nothing except my duty.
It was all I really knew.
For two days straight, without sleep, I’d watched the straight, wide, empty road ahead since the Primords made their last retreat. They would be back soon. They always came back. The five hundred soldiers of the 1st Corridor began to assemble behind us, fresh and ready from a night’s rest. I looked behind me at the army who stood patient and eager. The soldiers never complained about their heavy chest plates or shin braces or whether the shoulder harnesses holding the thick protective plates weighed them down or rubbed their skin. The Dacomé soldiers, head to toe in silver-grey armour, were a fearsome, formidable sight for any foe.
“Halíka Dacomé, have you had more visions of late?” asked Orthían as he pushed his bushy eyebrows into his hairline.
My mind-visions had been dominated by the black shadows that travelled from across the immense desert and other fallen cities. I could visualise the swarm of black Primords drawing closer every time I closed my eyes, like a dark cloud covering the moon’s light.
I shook my head. “Nothing new. They crossed the desert and reached the boundaries of the plain behind Arcanon Minor during the night. They’ve been beyond my sight until now.” I jerked my head towards the horizon as we watched our enemy’s slow approach.
Perayan spat in disgust. “They’ll join forces with our not-so-friendly neighbours in the Minor. They’ll probably split up to hide their numbers, but they’ll march towards us, nonetheless.”
I nodded. “Judging by their speed, they’ll be here in under three hours.”
“We’ll be ready, Halíka Dacomé,” said Captain Orelían. “W
e’ve come this far. Sooner or later, luck has to be on our side.”
“You and your bloody luck,” muttered Larník. “We haven’t got this far on luck alone. We have better soldiers, is all. Nothing to do with luck.”
She glared at him. “Then why have we retreated to the inner city, Larník, if we’ve been doing so well?”
Larník’s voice held a bitter edge. “Because the Skeptics ordered us to, nothing more. I’d be happier following Halíka Dacomé back out into the Minor, and not be cowardly. No offense, my lady.”
“None taken, Larník.” I waved off his comment. “I’m inclined to agree with you on that one. Hiding behind the barricades wouldn’t be my first option, but you know we have to abide by the Skeptics strategy orders, whether we want to or not. Our duty is to fight, nothing more.”
“Damn Skeptics. They meddle where they shouldn’t. Halíka Dacomé, you have the entire army ready to fight for you,” Larník gruffly replied. “If you want to overrule those dried-out, servile, blithering idiots, then just say the word. I’m with you.”
I studied him carefully, not wanting to show any of the rising emotion I felt from his words. “I fear it’s too late for that,” I said cautiously. Their silence, their distant stares made me think they agreed.
“The suns are brighter today. Maybe it’s a good omen,” said Captain Perayan, changing the subject and filling the sudden silence. “For the two suns to shine so brightly on one spot is a rarity.”
Another small breath of wind buffeted us on our high platform. We took a moment to admire the violet sky and the narrow stripe of orange refracted light between the two suns. The east face of Xiryathon, drenched in the dual sunlight, caused a silver gleam to bounce off the palace dome behind us that would be seen as far as the Feral Plains and the Mystric Sea. No one could have any doubt of the towering globelike splendour of the palace.
We’d shared peacetime and wartime with the Primords, as far back as fourteen or fifteen millennia. It was an inevitable factor when two very different races occupied the same land. The outcome was always a truce, a respite, that lasted for maybe a day or a week, sometimes a month. In recent centuries, the Elementals and Primords had managed to live together side by side in peace until this war started. I didn’t even know how or why it began.
Both races shared the name of Primord because scholar research found references to our ancestors, the Primordials. Once, hundreds of thousands of years ago, Primords and Primord Elementals had been the same, as one. However, years of evolution began to separate us. As our own race became more superior and developed gifts and magical abilities, we began to be referred as the Elemental Ones, which slowly became the Elementals. The Primords changed and adapted too. But their change was for the worst.
I’d been gifted from birth as all royal Dacomés had been. In all my battles, I’d been lucky enough that my healing magic kept me safe. The Skeptics claimed that while I stood on the land, my magic seeped into the earth and kept those closest to me free from harm too. My gift healed the soldiers close to me as they stood and fought.
The downside was that I couldn’t heal everyone all the time. It was impossible to be everywhere at once. When soldiers fought on the other side of the city, there was little I could do to help them in time. I moved between the corridors as quickly and swiftly as possible, but sometimes I was just too slow, and men died.
Then there was the Edict.
Palace lore forbade me to use magic in time of war. I got away with small things, like producing food from the ground just before a fight. The visions I received were for my eyes only, so hardly a life-or-death situation.
This war, which started before I was born, was reaching its climax. This small islandlike city of decency was all that was left of the Elemental rule.
If this battle went badly today, we would all die.
Chapter 3 - Summons
“Halíka Dacomé! Halíka Dacomé? Does anyone know where she is?” a young boy shouted, waving a piece of paper, as he ran through the lines of soldiers.
I climbed down from the observation point and ran to the messenger. “What is it?”
“A message from your father, Halíka Dacomé.” The boy, no more than thirteen years old, bowed down as he held out a folded slip with my name written on one side.
“Thank you,” I said as the boy continued to bow his head. “You can stand up now.”
He nodded and waited for me to open the letter. I read the words and cursed under my breath.
Captain Orthían was soon at my shoulder. “Bad news?”
“My father has no sense of timing. I’ve been summoned to the War Room,” I vented loudly. “He knows I shouldn’t leave the line. What is he thinking?”
“Maybe he’s had word from a Primord emissary. Will you go?”
“I don’t have a choice, Orthían,” I said to the big, burly man. “I’ll be back before the Primords arrive. Confer with the other captains, and make sure that every soldier is ready. In addition, please look after Jerik Dacomé. If anything drastic happens, he can send messages to me.”
I looked up quickly as the captains made their way down to ground level.
“Captains!” I ordered. “Go back to your corridors, prepare your Legions. Stand fast until the last of your barriers break. Once the Primords come through, I want two formations. Those who’ll fight one-to-one, head-on combat, and those who can run. The ones who can run must circle their group. It’s going to be two-against-one tactics, understand? We cannot win just by fighting on our own. Get the runners to cut throats from behind, cut tendons, slit spines, and chop off limbs. Maim and hack, then move on to the next one-to-one, always moving, and never staying put. This is the only way we can conquer today.”
“Ah, street skirmish tactics, it should work,” said Larník, finally cheery.
“Thank you. Now, get to your annexes. I’ll return shortly.”
Orthían stayed by my side as the captains marched in their various directions. Orelían waved up to Jerik as if to say, “See you soon,” and Jerik waved her off.
“Captain Orthían, do you need anything before I leave?”
Orthían gave a curtly nod. “Halíka Dacomé, I hate to ask but before you go … the men were wondering … it’s been three days since their last meal.”
I looked at him squarely in the face. Orthían was a good captain, respected and capable. He was a soldier’s soldier who’d risen through the ranks from a young boy and now commanded the 1st Legion, taking orders only from me. His honesty was one of his endearing virtues.
What I was about to do was criminal in the eyes of the Skeptics. This wasn’t the first time I’d stood in this spot and touched the ground with caution. The food rations had ended weeks ago and the smallest morsels of bread were all that the kitchens had to offer. The soldiers needed more than was provided, so I’d improvised. I’d broken the law.
The small act of kindness I was about to express would never reach the palace. If I fed hungry soldiers who were willing to die for our cause, who needed strength to fight together, then who would complain about free food?
I nodded to Orelían and knelt to the floor. I heard a thud as soft boots approached from behind and glanced at Jerik. He nodded in approval at what I was about to do.
My fingers trailed through the soft, dusty earth and I imagined red Gokan berries from the Ulnek Mountains. The berries meaty innards were rich in protein and sweetness. Large as your hand, a Gokan berry could keep your belly filled for a day.
The four thousand men, five hundred in each corridor, would all receive a Gokan berry near their feet. I shoved my magic down into the soil and imagined the thin, silver tendrils spreading around the barricades in a perfect arc, just far enough for the last soldier in each line.
My eyelids flicked open and I watched the tiny green shoots spring from the ground in front of the men closest to me. The shoots grew wiry and thick with a small ball growing from the centre. I concentrated. As the ball grew larger and larger
, my magic filled the berry with goodness. It only took moments before the berry was full size.
The soldiers watched as I withdrew my hands from the dirt, brushing off the dust and wiping them down the sides of my tunic.
“Eat,” I commanded. Every man grappled his berry and started munching, including Orthían and Jerik.
“When will you eat?” Jerik said silently as he bit into his Gokan. “You need the energy too.”
“I’ll find something at the palace. Stay with Orthían. Father’s summoned me.”
“Can’t be good news. Not right before our final battle.”
“I know but I have to go. I’ll be quick.”
Orthían glanced at Jerik and me, aware of our gift, but he remained silent.
When we’d finished, I saluted Orthían and walked back through the line. Every soldier I passed put his gripped hand to his opposite shoulder in salute.
I studied them quickly as I made my way. Most of the soldiers of the 1st, I knew. When you fought together, when you got mixed up in the melee of battle, you soon had to trust the soldier standing to your side, whoever they were or whatever background they came from. The familiar faces looked better for eating. Some had yet to wipe the berry juice from their chins but they saluted and smiled, anyway. Their faces brightened even more as the magic surged from my footsteps and relieved them of ache and fatigue.
The Battle for Arcanon Major (The Lost Dacomé Files) Page 2