The Heirs of History: A Nation From Nothing

by T. Josiah Haynes

  Laebmhill blinked. “Wait, you just did it? Without any commands?”

  “Commands,” Primhill scoffed. “Sure, Yrnhill had the high cleric barking commands at him. But my wedfather Fal did not administer many commands to do with sword and shield. This was under the Hawk’s Moon — before the Drysword arrived in Enesma, you see. Before Denhall and my wedbrother arrived. Before Balgray arrived with the refugees from Meireer. The high cleric was basically the leader of the whole ordeal. And he didn’t much fancy any real fighting.”

  Laebm ignored his son as he poured another pint of ale. “What of the battle itself?”

  “Yes, well, the troops were a league outside Enesma when Yrnhill and I led two dozen brave young men to hide in some abandoned cottages along the Eel Road, just outside of the Enesma villages. The kingsmen started to march past as we peeked through rotted oaken slats and broken glass windows.” Primhill sniffed violently. “We picked them off from behind, hid behind the wain of supplies and weapons. Yrnhill and I had hit the jackpot. Once we took the supply cart, the rest fell dead swift as though they were already corpses.”

  Laebmhill finished his pint and poured another. “So, an easy victory? What did Traamis have to say when you came back to Enesma?”

  “He appreciated that we had taken hostages. A dozen surrendered when the fighting finished. And we had great need of supplies and longswords — the Enesma outfit was onto us by that point. But he had words for Yrnhill. Though it wouldn’t matter in the end, Traamis made his young apprentice swear never to take up arms again. Even in the Great Flight, Yrnhill obeyed — never unsheathed a sword.”

  Laebm felt an itch in his fingers. Some sickness urged him to relive the bloody battles he had survived. The Profane King had sent Laebm, Kraek, and Prince Yaangdhill the Twisted into the Second Battle of Anang, which occurred around the same time Primhill ambushed the century of soldiers on the Eel Road. After Laebm and Kraek had switched sides and fought beside the rebels in Anang, they took the prince captive, but only after he swung his huge greatsword into Congresser Gaer’s chest. They lingered for a few days, then fled to Baeldaan — where Laebm’s cousin Baelhill governed. Laebm and Kraek were able to hide a thousand rebels in Baeldaan.

  Two months in, Grand Admiral Uandem visited Baeldaan, searching for rebels and the prince. Baelhill hid the protestants in alleyways and mines and secret dungeons. Uandem did not suspect anything, but some of his men had fraternized with the harem workers — without paying them. When Governor Baelhill confronted the grand admiral, Uandem denied the accusations and demanded the governor’s own wife to bed.

  Laebm’s wedbrother Baelhill drew his blade, but Baelhadn lowered it. She offered herself up to the grand admiral when she thought it was the only way. Two months later, Laebm suspected his sister grew heavy with the grand admiral’s child. Is it any worse than my sins?

  It didn’t matter. Four months idle, they should have known a weed would sprout. Some cleric loyal to Yaangd had infiltrated the rebels’ numbers. When the High Prophet arrived on Baeldaan’s doorstep with two thousand footmen, Kraek and Laebm were able to ensure five hundred rebels safely crossed the Baely River. The prince was freed, but Laebm did not know what else became of Baeldaan. They had to flee so swiftly — Prince Yaangdhill and High Prophet Shelyrbm so close behind.

  On their northeastward trek towards Enesma, the leader of the False Priests, Theul Jadeflame, ran into them — shadowed by a couple hundred foot soldiers and five hundred more False Priests. By this point, Laebm was pretty sure the prince had hurried to join forces with Theul. The rebels were exhausted, without many supplies; they took their time to scale the plains between the Baely River and the port Enesma.

  In the end, it had been the Jadeflame’s forces — likely bolstered by Yaangdhill’s smaller outfit — who descended upon Enesma. The rebels in Enesma numbered three thousand, and Laebm led five hundred more. Of the thirty-five hundred, only fifteen hundred landed on this virgin shore. The thought sent a cold shiver down his aging back.

  “None of my stories are interesting,” Laebm finally responded. “It would be nothing but an old man’s ramblings.”

  His son burped and slapped his cheeks. “For a fifty-two-year-old man, you’re looking pretty good. I can’t wait to grow old if I’m going to be as handsome as you.”

  “Alright, I think you’ve had enough of Sarahill’s ale.” Laebmhill did not obey his father, but Laebm simply leaned back and continued his soundless sentry.

  The heavens darkened. The purple clouds dissipated. The moonlit sea stretched its tendrils towards the soldiers, but it could not reach. Torchlight danced in the distance, in the hovels and the temple. Sarahill’s tavern must be pulsing to the rhythm of drinking songs. How Laebm yearned to be at a counter, stein in hand, singing along.

  But he was a general. He was the grand commander of these protestant forces. In the absence of a king, the congress agreed to allow Laebm rule over his soldiers. The congress, however, reserved the right to confiscate authority, should the need arise. Sometimes, Laebm wished the congress would supplant him, so he could take his rightful place at the tavern and blend in with the faceless.

  His pupils dilated. On the western horizon, red flickered. Just a glimmer of red. Then orange and red. Laebm sat up. “Primhill, Laebmhill, to the west.”

  They both sat upright and squinted. Laebmhill murmured, “Is the forest on fire?”

  “There is no forest along the west coast,” his father reminded him. “And the sky would shine brighter.”

  Primhill tilted his head. “Is it torchlight? It would be very far off.”

  “Not far enough.” Laebm rose and grabbed his axe. “Laebmhill, run. Alert Kraekhill and the others.”

  Laebmhill slurred, “Shall I arouse anyone on the way there?”

  “No need to start a panic.” But Laebm did not convince himself.

  Young Laebmhill stumbled away. Drunk as an empty glass, he thought, but in no shape to fight whatever lies on the horizon. Primhill nocked an arrow, and Laebm followed suit.

  A minute passed as the far off shapes became clearer. Two legs, two arms. It was people. Thousands, by Laebm’s estimate. Then they stopped their muffled march, some ways off. Primhill quivered in his old boots. “Do you think they saw the torches? Didn’t want to pick a fight?”

  “Perhaps,” he lied. “They outnumber us, I’d wager.”

  “Maybe they’re not fighters.”

  “They’re in no formation I recognize. Not soldiers.”

  “One can hope.”

  Out of the horde emerged four figures. Perhaps another minute slogged past as the four figures strode nonchalantly towards Laebm and Primhill. Finally close enough to view, their leader appeared Hillite — chestnut skin, shaggy black hair. But the other three wore alien raiments of green and gold. Emerald silks wrapped around the foreigners’ bosoms and draped over their hips. The Hillite was male and mid-twenties, followed by a middle-aged woman and two older men.

  The Hillite-looking man held his hands up. “General Laebm, is that you?”

  Laebm’s heart pounded in his chest like rolling thunder. “Who are you?”

  The man took another step into the torchlight. “Ambassador Ganjinhill, wedson to Congresser Balgray. Tell me, friend, how does she fare?”

  Laebm couldn’t believe it. Ganjinhill had journeyed west with Yrnhill the elder. They had found an ally. Or, at least a neighbor, he worried. “Balgray is in good health.” Laebm lowered his bow. “It is Laebm you speak with. And Soldier Primhill with me.” Primhill lowered his bow as well.

  Ganjinhill sighed. He stood close enough for Laebm to make out the whites of his eyes now. “These are our friends,” he declared. “They call themselves the Segchyhah.”

  With an emotionless grunt, Laebm stepped forward. “The Segchyhah? What do they want?”

  “Trade,” Ganjinhill answered proudly. “And to make sure we’re well fed. For three hundred years, they have—”

  A shadow whooshe
d past the line of torches and leapt at one of the older men behind Ganjinhill. A longsword gleamed in the pale moonlight. “Laebmhill, no!”

  The old Segchyhah stumbled backwards and avoided Laebmhill’s initial slash. The next swing of the sword gave away that Laebmhill had not sobered up. And he had not had enough time to gather the other soldiers, Laebm knew.

  Laebm rushed towards the idiot he had to call a son, but Ganjinhill made it there first. Steel drawn, he shouted, “Laebmhill, stand down! They are here to help us!”

  Laebmhill hardly registered Ganjinhill’s presence. Eyes heavy with drowse, Laebmhill raised his longsword. Ganjinhill met the strike. But the ambassador was no soldier. Ganjinhill stumbled back, into Laebm’s arms. Laebmhill raised his heavy blade once more and managed to cut the old man at the knee. Laebm went to tackle his son, but a blade had sprouted through his chest. Ganjinhill had gotten behind Laebmhill, and the sot didn’t notice. The boy wouldn’t see his twenty-first birthday.

  Fire from a hundred torches illuminated Laebm’s son as he stared at the heavens, still standing. Ganjinhill removed his weapon from the boy’s chest and dropped it to catch him. Laebm stood frozen.

  Primhill made it to Laebm’s side. “General?”

  Laebm turned, blinking. “Soldier?”

  Primhill’s nostrils flared, and his voice remained hushed. “I’ll end him, if you command it.”

  Laebm turned back and looked at his dying son, in the arms of his killer. Then he examined the three Segchyhah — the woman tending to the injured man, the third man had drawn a dagger from his robes. “Soldier, stand down.”

  He ambled towards his son. The sands below turned a thick crimson color, though he expected there was as much alcohol as there was blood pouring from the mortal wound. Laebm fell to his knees, and Ganjinhill handed him off — as awkwardly as he could.

  Gingerly as a mother would caress her newborn, Laebm brushed the hair from in front of Laebmhill’s eyes. Laebm’s lip quivered, but no tears formed in his eyes. “Son? Are you…?”

  “Father… Please…” A bead of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and down to his chin. “At least I died… A belly full of drink…”

  “You’re truly… I thought I had more time…”

  “Father, I… You were a good… Perhaps I’ll dream of…” His limbs grew limp, and his eyes rolled back. Laebmhill’s lungs no longer stirred.

  Laebm allowed his son to lie on the torchlit night sands. In the end, he could not shed a tear for his son. Will anyone weep for my passing? he wondered. As he stood, he could feel the sticky blood drying on his hands, wrists, thighs. “Ganjinhill.”

  Now joined with the three Segchyhah, Ganjinhill tiptoed forward. “I cannot express—”

  “Say that I attacked you.”

  “What?”

  He didn’t have the energy, the fire. “Tell people I struck at you.”

  “I couldn’t… I am so sorry, Laebm. No one wanted this.”

  “Primhill,” the general called. “Arrest me, at once.”

  Primhill couldn’t form words at first. Then, “Excuse me, general?”

  “Take me into custody. For trying to kill Ganjinhill and the Segchyhah.” Laebm unsheathed his thick blade. “You have three seconds.”

  “Arrest him!” Ganjinhill pled. “Before we have to defend ourselves!”

  Laebm Lionheart walked towards the ambassador but threw his sword to the ground. He removed the bow from over his shoulder and nocked an arrow. “Let it be on your hands, not mine.” The arrowhead pointed directly towards Ganjinhill’s forehead.

  Primhill tackled him.

  Chapter eighteen

  Invasion

  Falhill sat in his usual chair about the Marble Slab, but extra wooden stools squeezed into the spaces between the marble wingbacks. On either side of Falhill sat his wife Falhadn and Balgray’s wedson Ganjinhill the ambassador.

  Only one place at the Marble Slab sat empty. Drea Drysword scowled at the empty seat, then at Theral. “Do you know where our fellow congresser is?”

  Theral outgrimaced Drea. “Our fellow congresser is in his home, sword drawn by the front door, ensuring no foreigner burgles his house or slays his son or steals his wife.”

  Ganjinhill opened his mouth, but Falhill grabbed his wrist. “Please don’t translate that.”

  The Cavern of Congress had little air left within; some fifty men and women cramped inside: the congress, their valued guests, the foreign leaders, their assistants, and a crop of Hillite soldiers. Kraek may not be here in person, but his influence certainly lingers.

  A middle-aged woman spoke for the foreigners. Her brown hair bounced as she stood, and her bright blue eyes met Falhill’s. Then they moved on. Unnaturally blue.

  She spoke slowly — her words unintelligible. But Ganjinhill did his best to keep up; “Good morning, all. We are Segchyhah. We are here for peace. We roam across this continent. We make allies with many peoples.” The foreigner raised her black eyebrows, which had been fashioned into thin waves. “I am Salyryd. I am a Segchyhah Representative. One of eight. Three Segchyhah, and five Representatives from each of our member nations.” Ganjinhill grinned and added, “She’s known as Salyryd the Roamer.”

  Theral sneered. “What does she mean? Member nation?”

  Ganjinhill translated the question, then translated Salyryd’s response; “Five peoples have joined the Segchyhah Collective, from across this continent. Others trade with us but wish to remain separate.”

  “Yes, but what does it mean to be a member nation?”

  “Mutual protection, free trade, a seat at the table when we make international law.”

  Theral pounded her fist on the Marble Slab. “International law? Did you translate that correctly? What gives these people the right to set international law?”

  While Salyryd listened to the translation, Falhill jumped in, “Please maintain your composure, Congresser.”

  Ganjinhill translated the foreign leader, “Our international law would not apply to you if you do not wish to join our cause.”

  “Do we have a choice? You have at least five thousand Segchyhah ready to make slaves of us. They’ve already killed one of us.” Theral did not stand alone in her worries. Whereas Hillites had come to call their first city Independence, Falhill had heard others call the thousands of tents on their western border Invasion.

  “We would never enslave a people.” Salyryd effortlessly kept her composure. “We seldom implement our military capability. We prefer diplomacy.”

  “Like with Laebmhill. He was only a boy.” Theral tightened her fists on the table. “But you have implemented your capability in the past?”

  “For the purpose of peace.” Salyryd held out her gaunt arms. “We have been told that food supply is an issue for your colony. We can provide wagons of food — at no fee. This food is a gift. We will not accept any repayment.”

  Old Drea craned his head to face the leader of the Segchyhah. “We don’t want any charity.”

  “We bring extra food with us on our journeys, so we may feed the needy. If your people starve despite our offering, our consciences will grow heavy with regret.”

  “We are a strong people without you,” Drea retorted. “These people will not accept help from strangers.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Balgray interrupted, and her wedson interpreted. “Theral and Drea have some sort of death wish. I do not understand it. I believe the majority of the people in this room want to accept these foreigners’ aid. And I believe it is outrageous that only we congressers have been permitted to speak in this gathering.”

  “Congresser Balgray, the Segchyhah have agreed to only allow their Representatives to speak while only our congressers may speak.” Drea sweat profusely. “And it is for the sake of concise communication.”

  “There are so many witnesses in attendance today, who can attest to the food shortage situation.”

  “And the congressers may express those concerns. Perhaps we shoul
d adopt a custom of the Segchyhah and represent our citizens?” The old man coughed. “But I disagree with you, Congresser. The Harvest Moon will rise in just more than one month. Our farmers’ yields will be substantial.”

  “Someone is blighting the farms!”

  “That is an unsubstantiated claim! We do not yet understand this new shore. Nature is fickle. But have faith, Congresser!”

  “Enough,” Falhill said. “Does this congress have to vote on whether it will accept the Segchyhah’s free gift of food?”

  “I believe the people should vote,” Drea said. Falhill stared speechless at his mentor. “This is a huge decision. We should allow the citizens to vote yea or nay.”

  Balgray stood from her marble-hewn seat. “Why do you want us to starve?! You and I keep watch over the storehouse! You know how dire our situation is!”

  “The Mule’s Moon still hangs in the sky, and the Harvest Moon is more than two months away. There is more than enough time. There is more than enough hope.”

  Salyryd managed to get some words in, which Ganjinhill swiftly translated; “We apologize that our offering has caused such disagreement. How can we Segchyhah help?”

  But Balgray kept her cloudy hazel eyes fixed on the old man Drea. “I elect we accept the Segchyhah’s gracious gift, because there are no stipulations on our part and we will starve come winter.”

  Denhall’s cheeks blushed, and his brow tensed. “All in support?”

  Theral rapped her knuckles against her marble seat. But Drea slammed his wrinkled palms onto the Marble Slab. “You will not speak out of turn!” he said, finger pointed at young Denhall. “I am the elder on this congress. And I will not put this to a vote.”

  Balgray leaned forward. “All in support?”

  Theral rapped her knuckles against her marble chairs once more, this time slower. Balgray gestured towards her. “First of all, we cannot see the future. How do you know there will never be any stipulations? How do you know we will starve come winter?”

  “I have no doubt that children will die with the trees, if we don’t do something about it. And Hrash sends us these—”