by T. G. Neal
Sitting directly across from him was King Tivanis, who had been looking much better, but now he was looking distraught, sick, maybe even defeated. Sitting directly in front of King Tivanis was a pine box, recently built. The top of the box was sitting off to the side. When The Right and The Left walked into the main hall, the King stood and walked away. Confused by the reaction, The Right walked over to the box and peered down inside. What he saw was nightmarish. Inside the box was Prince Kyvan’s head, but it wasn’t simply that. He had been tampered with. From his forehead, someone had forced goats horns into two equal holes and they protruded from the holes and up on top of his head. As if that weren’t enough, his eyes had been blackened and a black sun had been burned into his forehead between the horns.
The Right covered his mouth and turned away, exhaling sharply. Behind him, The Left and the new Commandant peered in. Broadsblade was furious, he turned and walked toward the man who was being held, but before he could reach out and strike him, the King stepped back into the room from behind his throne and shouted “No!”
Tivanis was an old man, but after a few days of the best treatments in the land, healing magicks and effort, he stomped toward the captured man. “Take him out on the steps!” He screamed at his guards. He didn’t even walk with a limp anymore, no weakness, no anything. He walked with power and intent. Still holding the man, who still giggled at his gift to the King, Tivanis sliced the tendons behind his knees, causing the man to fall. “Release him, he will go nowhere.”
The guards did as they were asked. From behind them, The Left walked forward. “Your Majesty, you might consider— “
Tivanis shot The Left a deathly glare and looked back to this dark messenger. “Do you have anything to say, filth?”
The Messenger laughed. “Long live the Destroyer!”
Tivanis withdrew a short sword from his hip, swung and beheaded the man with very little effort. As his head fell to the ground, Tivanis lifted a leg and kicked the corpse of the still-twitching messenger down the steps, flailing as he fell the grand distance. “Put his head on a spike.”
The Right spoke this time. “My Lord, we haven’t done that since the civil war.”
Tivanis snarled. “Did I ask you for your input?”
The Right pointed for a Templar to grab the head and do as commanded. King Tivanis looked back between the doors. “Get rid of that… thing in the box. I care not how you dispose of it, but do not let the people see.”
All who heard bowed their heads. Then without a further word, King Tivanis turned and locked himself away in the castle.
Vaelen took point of their travel group for the first while, and as they neared the border of Mreindale, Mikael rode up next to him and pointed at the light of a fire that burned. “Someone’s there; might be highwaymen.”
Vaelen nodded and dropped back next to Aurelia. “You might want to be ready.” When he noticed she already was, he sm
iled. From up ahead of him, Mikael had lifted a single finger into the air to get the attention of the rest of their band. They were unassuming but prepared for possible engagement.
As they neared the firelight at the border, they saw the standing tents, and the family sigil of the Royal Family. Mikael furrowed his brow and rode up slowly. From behind one of the tents stepped a fully armored soldier with a spear in his hand, pointed skyward. “Halt!” called out the Sentry.
Mikael slowed his horse and rose his hand as a fist. “Whoa, girl,” he said, patting the neck of his horse. “By whose authority?” asked Mikael.
The Sentry gestured for another soldier to come forward. After passing from the soldier to the sentry, the scroll was passed to Mikael. “By Royal order, the borders are to be manned and guarded. None may pass without declaring business. Unauthorized passage is to be dealt with by fines, court, or – if necessary – violence. Merchants are required to pay a fee after declaring their wares. All persons, wagons, or horses are subject to search if I or my men feel at danger. Engagement is at our judgment.”
Mikael looked back to Rolyat, who sat quite stoic atop his white stallion. He did nothing at first but sat and watched.
Mikael nodded. “We’re headed to the capital with information, and that’s all.”
The Sentry looked Mikael up and down, and then looked down the ranks of those with him. “You look like a band of sell swords to me.”
“You’re correct. We’re members of the Silver Sort,” Mikael said truthfully.
“Then you’re in the business of killing.”
“We’re in the business of whoever pays us,” said Keneya sharply.
Mikael picked up, “However, we’re currently in the business of information, and none of us are here to kill anyone.
“Unless it’s necessary,” Keneya said, looking at the Sentry.
Aurelia put her fingertips on the shaft of an arrow and got ready if the Sentry lurched, but as she did Rolyat rode forward. “Good evening, sir. My name is Rolyat Kebiin, I am a Paladin of the Exemplars, right and honorific. White Company. I am also an acting member of the Silver Sort; I am a diviner and a man of healing power and triumphant in combat. I am taking information to the Paladeais. Is it necessary to pay a fee to cross the border? Please state so, so that I may pay it and be reimbursed.”
Vaelen had only dealt with Paladins occasionally when they would pass through Drachenara. Word of their abilities and renown were always legend, as no real conflict requiring their attention had been present for many hundreds of years. The last real story of a Paladin’s might and ability was the telling of the necromancer Abessus, who had been believed to channel demons. Paladin overcame his keep, dispelled his abilities, and nothing else was ever heard from him. Rolyat was one of those men, but he was quiet regarding his abilities.
The Sentry looked up at Rolyat on his horse and nodded solemnly. “No, sire. We need no fee for you. What is your journey, and why are there so many in your party if you travel for the Paladeias?”
Rolyat looked to, and then gestured to, Mikael. “He is a Monk of the Mreindale Monastery. If need be, he can also show you the proper paperwork, if you cannot tell by his dress. Be that as it may, we all travel with news of a recent excursion. There are some things that the Exemplar Order requests be described in person. You understand of course.”
Clearly perturbed, the man waved the whole band through the checkpoint and into the capital brendom of Mreindale.
As they passed, tensions clearly let up, and Aurelia released her three-fingered grip on the shaft of her arrow. Once they were far enough away from the border checkpoint, Vaelen spoke up. “So, when did this start happening, and why?”
Aurelia, one who usually spoke very little nodded, and looked ahead of her to Rolyat and Mikael who rode side by side, talking in hushed voices. “This is something new. From my childhood on, and even in my recent travels, the King hasn’t had enough interest in the patterns of his people to set up checkpoints to ascertain their whereabouts and actions.”
Keneya scoffed. “It is only when you fear to lose something that you tighten your grip on it. There is unrest in the capital.”
Rolyat slowed from a trot to a walk and looked back at Keneya. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, and we won’t find out until we reach the capital city.”
The remaining ride of that day was reasonably hushed. Vaelen, Aurelia and Keneya rode at the rear of the group, watching their surroundings change around them. The transition acted smoothly. From the forests of Quardanis, the ground flattened out to just grassy hills that slowly-but-surely headed down into softer ground. As the ground softened more and more, the grass and the green diminished. As the sprigs of grass became fewer and fewer, the ground turned into a hard-packed dry, cracked surface, marred only by the dead trees and sprigs of life that had once lived there, but had long-since become the sun-dried remains of existence.
This portion of Mreindale was once populated, green and as alive as Quardanis, but as time went on, the harsh sun and arid air b
rought all the vegetation death. Now the only thing that really remained here, was the trail they rode on. Beneath their feet was giant cobbled paving stones that had been laid centuries ago.
Many believe that Mreindale was once a massive, beautiful tropical forest, but when the Elves who once lived here moved on, their magic, and thus life, left with them. Then, as time went on and the forests died away, the humans moved away from the settlements they had built and into the oasis-city of Mreindale. Now, only extremely sporadically, a few oasis-towns still existed. Aside from those, the land was all-but completely impassable. Huge caravans had gone into the deserts, unprepared, only to find an end and a trip to the afterlife.
It would still be many days before they made it to the capital. Small places had been set up along the way to make it easier to transverse the deserts; shelters that were shared by most travelers. One resilient family set up a trading post before the King’s Vale, around what residents and travelers called the “blue hole” a deep, crystal-clear watering hole that was always replenished no matter how much water was taken by travelers.
At the eve of their first day into Mreindale, the group was preparing to find a spot off the beaten path to settle down, and then start riding again at dawns first light. Before leaving the main path, a single rider rode up to face them head on. He removed the hood that covered his head and stopped, “Ah! More travelers.”
“Aye, and a good evening to you, sir.” Vaelen said, currently riding at the lead.
“Hup, hup. Yer not in a rush, are you?” The man asked, leaning around, examining their band.
Keneya cleared his throat with intent.
“Oh, so you know what this is, hm?” The man asked. “Boys!” As if materializing out of the darkness, four men on horses and six men on foot came out of nowhere. “Now, you’ll be handing over your valuables. Making this easy, right?”
Keneya sighed. “Wait, hold on.” He hopped off his horse and opened his pack. He cut his eyes up to look at Mikael, then cut then back the opposite direction to look at Vaelen, gave a simple, easily-missed nod of the head.
Vaelen, recognizing the suggestion, tensed his muscles in preparation. He delicately reached his hand across his leg in the darkness and touched Aurelia on the thigh. Her reaction at first wasn’t what she expected. She knew what it meant, but her body responded differently. Her heart raced. She found it harder to breathe for a moment and swallowed harder in kind. She moistened her lips, gained control of herself, and reached down to her side to get ready to lift an arrow.
One of the bandits snarled. “Oi, what’re you doin, spindly?” He shouted, referencing Keneya, who had yet to pull back his hood.
Keneya cleared his throat. “Spindly is a new name.” He pulled back his hood, showing his ears. “I was getting you all the coin I had. If you’ll be patient. Couple hundred sovereigns should get you off our back, no?”
The bandits hooted and hollered and looked to each other with glee in their eyes. Keneya had no intention for that at all, however. What he planned all happened in a flash. For the untrained eye, none of it would have been seen at all. For an eye like Vaelen’s, or even Aurelia’s, who had a gift for it, it was a graceful display of precision. In one hand, Keneya held two throwing knives, the other held a delightfully ornate karambit. In one fluid motion, Keneya sprung into action, planting his foot on the saddle of his horse and launching himself in the air. As he weightlessly glided through the air, he loosed the two throwing knives, sinking them into the eyes of two of the bandits, sending them sprawling off their horses. By the time his foot touched the ground, he swooped, slicing the tendons of one horse, and then springing through the air to slit the throat of the bandit who fell.
The sudden guttural howls that split the night sky were chilling. Two men died almost instantly, while the third fell to the ground, gurgling as he tried to summon air through his trachea, only to find blood.
Now, acting on Keneya’s opening attacks, Vaelen spurred his horse toward the man he assumed was the leader. He removed his sword from the frog on his back, hefted it at ready, and rode past the man, swinging his blade as he rode. In one full swing, he nearly cleaved the man in half, and immediately dismounted his horse, running toward two of the men on foot.
The last man on a horse turned to run, galloping away at full speed. Already nearly twenty feet away from the battle, Aurelia docked an arrow, pulled the string taught and exhaled. As she felt her breath leave her body, she loosed the arrow. Her eyes watched the shaft of the arrow scrape along the forward end as it traveled, spinning, eloquently splitting the air. She could feel the swan feathers as they brushed against the bow, then watched as the arrow almost disappeared into the near-lightless air. Then, without doubting, she saw the arrow drive half-shaft into the back of the man’s head. Now slack, his body drooped and fell to the ground, foot stuck in the stirrup, being drug along by his horse.
Mikael was off his horse and running on his toes toward two men who had turned to strike at Vaelen, whose back was to them. The dust that kicked up as he ran hadn’t even had time to hit the ground by the time he reached the men. Using his forward momentum, Mikael landed a two-fisted punch in the chest of the first man, knocking him clear off his feet. Using the now opposing momentum of landing such a punch, he bowed backward, dodging the punch of the second bandit. As he rose, he grabbed the punching arm of the bandit still on his feet and brought it down hard on his shoulder as he stood, snapping both the radius and the ulna, then forced the arm backward at the break. Focusing the pain against the man, he then swung and kicked him in the ribs, fracturing several along his left side. When the man stumbled backward, Mikael hopped once, then planted a flat-footed kick in his sternum that sent him flying backward. By the time the first man sat up from having been knocked down, Mikael kicked the side of his head, sending him back to the dirt unconscious.
Rolyat had dismounted his horse at some point and was engaging two combatants. Though a short sword hung at his hip, he wrapped his hands around a hammer that hung on the opposite side. With each impact he made, the hammer seemed to pulse with otherworldly light. He, almost effortlessly, knocked opponents backward. That was because the hammer itself never touched the opponent; infused with powers said to have come from the Maker, the Paladin executed brutish force without ever draining much of his own stamina. Finally, as each man came close enough to him together, he grunted and slammed the broadside of the hammer into the ground, sending both men airborne. Then, he turned in time to flash an open palm toward Vaelen.
Vaelen turned but was too slow. As he brought his blade up to deflect, he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to deflect the strike of the oncoming blade, instead, he winced and turned away. He expected the blade to bite into his flesh, but it never did. When he opened his eyes, the blade of his opponent had shattered, and the man staggered backward. Vaelen took only a moment to make eye contact with a stoic-faced Rolyat and drove the tip of his claymore into the bandit and turned back to fight another.
Still-atop her steed, Aurelia loosed another arrow at a man who turned to run, and finished off the two that Rolyat had knocked to the ground. She had never seen a Paladin fight. She had never seen someone execute abilities like that ever, and it took everything in her power not to stop and stare at the power.
Mikael felt the surge in power that Rolyat used, and as he watched the Paladin, felt his own lessened stamina return. The light swirled around the group, and all felt refreshed.
Aurelia had just put arrows into the men who Mikael had knocked unconscious and looked up to see everyone else cleaning off their blades. She sighed, plucking her sunken arrows from the corpses that now littered the ground around them. For the most part, they all remained silent. It was an unspoken rule that after such a battle if it didn’t have to be said, it wouldn’t be. And it was better that way. She pulled a rag from a pouch on her side and cleaned the blood off the tips of the arrows and as much of the shaft as she could.
Before they mounted
back up, Vaelen walked up to face Aurelia and placed a hand on her upper arm. He still breathed heavily, and blood had spattered on his face. She reached up and wiped some of the blood and sweat away. He exhaled deeply. “Are you alright?”
Aurelia nodded, “I’m okay.” She looked into his eyes and then looked away.
The rest of the band had gotten up on their horses and started riding. Vaelen offered Aurelia a hand back up on her horse, then mounted his own, and they rode until they found a place to stay for the night.
The few days of occupation on the borders was more than enough to ruffle the feathers of the population. Merchants were outraged to disclose their goods and pay a crossing fee each time they reached a border. Even normal citizens visiting family in other brendoms were charged the tax to cross the border. Poorer families would have to turn back. Even worse, people quickly discovered that as more citizens joined the ranks of the soldiers, the camps and their patrols extended along every border.
Arrests were happening daily, and it was up to the brendom to charge the criminals and keep them in their prisons, and many prisons began filling up fast.
Jorvig sat on the throne of the brendom of Drachenara, Miliria at his side, and Denevim behind him in the shadows. His pale face was a ghastly memoir of the man he once was. Jorvig could barely hear himself think over the raving going on in the crowds of his main hall. He stood to his feet and raised his hands. “Silence! Hush! Now!” He stepped forward to the edge of the steps, the grounds shouting dwindling to a barely-audible murmur. “I know that new laws have been enacted that—“
“You know what the crown is making you do! What do you know of your own people’s suffering?!” One man shouted.
“Yeah!” Called several others in the crowd.
“I know little more than you tell me, my people! There was no message sent to me by King Tivanis. This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you.” Jorvig looked back to his wife, Miliria, with a smile, but returned to look at the crowd and mirrored their agitation. “Do not think this does not infuriate me!”