by N. M. Howell
“Who?” she asked, her eyes settling on his hands, which clenched together in fists.
“The emblazoned armies from the far South. They harvest reinart horns, cast them in burnt silver and wear them atop their helms. That, along with their banners made from the skins of their enemies emblazoned with their sigil, the burning sacremure tree, is how they can be identified. The banners, of course, their namesake.”
Rhea listened quietly as they walked side by side, the others far enough ahead to give them a moment of privacy. Bile crept up her throat at his words as she envisioned the army in their despicable insignia.
“Orcs, goblins, and the Emerald Fae,” he continued, answering her unasked question. “They’ve banded together to stand united against the gods, not stopping until they see a dark-worlder take the crown.”
Rhea listened, enraptured. The orcs were generally a peaceful race, having supported the crown’s armies throughout history. They were a strong, brutish people, but honorable and gentle enough in their demeanor, despite their outward appearance. They interacted with normal society well enough and Rhea had met her fair share at the castle growing up.
Goblins, on the other hand, were rarely seen, preferring the dark caverns beneath the ground in the distant South where they kept to themselves, refusing the customs of the outside world.
“I’ve never seen a goblin before,” Rhea said quietly. She tried to picture them, but failed. She had heard enough about them from the stories; small, violent creatures with rows of razor sharp teeth and eyes that could hypnotize even the strongest magic user.
“Wait,” she froze. “Did you say the Emerald Fae?”
Taelor nodded, placing a gentle hand on her back, encouraging her forward. Rhea obliged, her pace steady. “They joined the armies some years back, tired of the torment they endured under your father’s reign.”
“But surely they would endure far worse by marching with an army of orcs and goblins, would they not?” Rhea had fond memories of the Emerald Fae, a quiet and respectful people who served at Greystone while she was growing up. She had many friends who were Emerald Fae, though being a princess under her father’s rule, she never could have called any servant a friend outside of her private chambers.
“I’ll admit I don’t fully understand their choices,” he agreed. “But I can understand their need to flee Greystone. After you left, when there was no longer hope that an heir could ever take the throne and restore the old ways of peace, the world changed. Armies formed, battles were fought, races made enemies of their lifetime allies, and friends of those who had been their long-time foes.”
Caught in a dream-like daze, Rhea mindlessly moved one foot in front of the other in time with Taelor’s steps. She gazed down at her feet as she walked, her peripherals blurred as she focused on his words. After walking a long moment in silence, the rush of the tall, dry grass in the breeze the only sound around them in the evening air, she turned to him.
“How did you become so knowledgeable in war?”
Taelor paused, his expression grave. “A lot has happened in the six years you have been gone.”
Rhea searched his face, but that was the only answer he offered. They shared a long, wordless glance, and Rhea finally understood why he had changed so much. His pained, tired eyes told her so much. She didn’t need to hear him say more.
Grayson, Roan, Arry, and Keaven slowed, allowing Rhea and Taelor to catch up. They all marched on in silence, the rhythm of their footsteps a muted rhythm in the heavy evening air.
The hills steepened the farther they went, and beads of sweat brimmed Rhea’s forehead as they ascended the steep incline. She wiped away a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The low bushes became thicker, their surroundings suddenly littered with tall, leafless trees and fallen branches. The hot and dry air began to cool the higher they went.
They walked together for nearly an hour before she smelled it. A sour, acrid smell that filled her nose and made her eyes water. It carried in the wind that blew fiercer as they neared the peak. The smell stuck in her throat and made her gag.
“What is that?” she choked, barely able to breathe through the overwhelming scent.
Taelor’s back stood rigid as they walked forward.
Grayson turned and narrowed his eyes at the elf. “This is close,” he said.
Taelor nodded, a quick and curt gesture. They both then turned to face the far side of the hill.
“What is it?” Rhea asked. Her eyes were streaming, and she could barely take it anymore.
Grayson turned his head to her, his face grave and eyes dark. “That is a smell of death.”
Her own eyes went wide. Diverting her gaze out to the horizon, she tried not to think how much death could possibly be making such a powerful smell. “And it’s coming from over there?”
Grayson nodded. “The wind is blowing from the West. You should prepare yourself for what is likely over the other side of this ridge.”
“There are no threats that I can hear,” Taelor said from up ahead. “We are safe to pass over.”
Rubbing his neck with his strong hand, Grayson stretched out his sore muscles. He looked tired, Rhea noticed. His eyes looked strained, like he was carrying a burden no one else could see. “Lead the way.”
Taelor marched forward, followed by the rest. Rhea struggled to keep up, her legs having grown tired from walking so far. She wasn’t used to the exercise.
As they neared the top of the ridge, the smoke got worse. Rhea struggled not to gag. She’d put her sweater back on, and she pulled a sleeve loose and held it against her nose as she breathed through the fabric. Stepping over the peak, her hands dropped to her side.
“Oh, my gods.”
Endless fields sprawled out before her, scarred with the remnants of battle. The plains were burned and smoking, with an unfathomable number of casualties sprawled across the fields. Rhea held her hand to her mouth, from shock this time. She stared out at the horrors, not wanting to believe.
“Looks like Aelon has made his way through here,” Roan said, his brow furrowed in consideration. He shook his head slowly, gazing out over the bloodied plains. “It smells fresh. This didn’t happen too long ago.”
“What happened here?” Rhea asked. Her mind went numb, the unimaginably morbid scene that lay before her playing tricks on her mind. She couldn’t possibly be seeing what she was seeing.
“Those are the banners of Elgaaris,” Taelor finally said. He raised his hands toward the far distance, and Rhea’s eyes followed to where he pointed. Her gaze settled on a large red flag in the distance. The wind was low, but it blew enough for her to see. A suspended form of a man in white hung on the flag, a morbid sigil perfectly depicting the horrors of what lay before them.
“Aelon and Elgaaris did this?”
Taelor shook his head. “Yes. But not together.”
Rhea turned to him, her eyes wide. “You mean they fought against each other?”
Taelor nodded.
“But why?” Elgaaris featured prominently in some of Rhea’s earliest memories at the castle. She was always fond of him, being one of the kinder gods who visited her father. He was wildly intense but always took the time to pay attention to her when he came to visit, often bringing her toys and gifts from his travels. His magic was illusion, and she loved the spectacles he made in presenting her with gifts.
“Why would anyone take up arms against the man claiming to be king?” Grayson asked. His eyes grazed the battlefield, a deep-set wrinkle creased above his brow as he assessed the events that must’ve taken place.
“To claim the throne for himself,” Rhea finally answered, her voice quiet. “But he never seemed the type to want such a thing.”
“You’d be amazed at how people change in times of war,” Taelor said. He looked up at her, his eyes softening. “And he is not the kind of man you remember him to be, Rhea. Perhaps he once offered kindness to you, a small child in the castle, daughter to the king. But I’ve seen what he and his peop
le are capable of, and the destruction he’s caused in the distant lands to the East where my people come from.”
Rhea considered his words, knowing full well that he was right. She rubbed her tired eyes with the heels of her hands. She figured she would have to let go of any preconceptions she had on anyone or anything from her world. Times have changed, clearly, and she was a foreigner to this strange land.
“So Aelon and Elgaaris were at war, and this is the product of their battles. All this death and destruction, because they both want to sit on the throne.”
Her guardians nodded.
“Seems everyone wants a chance at your crown,” Keaven added. He had been particularly quiet since they arrived in the Otherworld. He clung to his cloak, wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his hood pulled deeply over his head.
“Not my crown,” Rhea corrected.
“It is.”
Rhea turned to him, frowning. “I don’t understand how someone could risk so many of their own people just to sit on a stupid chair.”
Grayson laughed suddenly behind her. She turned to see his face lit up with the briefest smile before it returned to his serious expression. “It’s more than a chair, Rhea.”
Rhea shrugged, unable to pull her eyes from the devastation around her. “Seems just a chair to me.”
Taelor frowned at her. “A very dangerous chair that currently sits empty.”
Arry was rather quiet, his arms folded behind his back as he stared out at the carnage. His smile had left his face, and he wore an expression so plain that Rhea couldn’t guess what was going through his mind.
Rhea’s heart hurt, but she could tell she wasn’t the only one in pain. The energy had changed, the strong magic from all five of her guardians that had pressed into her since the morning had quieted, their magic dimmed. The grief of looking out over such an extravagant loss of life had a strong dampening effect on everyone’s magical energies. It was as if the tragedy drained them. There was not much more left than a flicker of each one of them, a light buzz on her skin that hardly stood out from the breeze.
“How many?” she asked, her eyes scanning the large expanse of fields that held the scars and remnants of the battle.
“Hard to say,” Taelor said. He began leading the group down the ascent, toward the bloodied battlefield. Rhea followed reluctantly, hanging far enough behind to be in her own space. As they neared the bottom of the slope, the smell hung even heavier, and she gagged as she sucked in a ragged breath.
“You going to be okay?” Roan asked her, a deep frown on his face. He patted his hand on her shoulder as he passed, his eyes narrowing with concern.
Rhea held the back of her hand against her mouth and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll manage.” Her voice came out a whisper.
Roan turned away from her, focusing his attention on the bodies around them. “Their armor looks new,” he commented.
Taelor heard him and turned. His gaze lowered to the nearest body, settling on the shining armor that wrapped around a boy’s small chest. “Yes, looks that way.”
Roan tensed, shaking his head. He shook his shaggy brown hair from his eyes, frowning deeply. “He was just a kid.” The pain in his voice made Rhea’s throat tighten.
They all walked together, winding around the endless bodies. The dead grass was barely visible beneath them, they were so many. Flies had begun to settle.
Rhea had never seen anything like it. She’d read about epic battles in books, sure, and even the odd scene in an outdoor movie, if she was lucky enough to catch it. But seeing this in real life, all the death and destruction from war, sent a cold shock of reality through her. This was her world. These were her people. Adults and children, all fighting a war that wasn’t theirs.
She was overwhelmed by a sudden sadness, and her bones ached with despair. What had her world become? She couldn’t have imagined it even if her guardians had explained it to her in detail. She clenched her fists as a strong feeling came over her that this was just the beginning of what was to come.
Looking out over her surroundings, she realized just how far the evil had spread. Her heart ached, but she knew there was nothing one girl could do to stop any of this. She knew she shouldn’t have returned.
“Over here,” Keaven called from a distance. He’d wandered away from the group, his head low. The group joined him, standing around the mangled corpse of a soldier.
“What is it,” Rhea asked, her eyes searching those of her guardians.
Taelor pointed to the small insignia on the man’s breastplate. “See that mark? The star with a cross beneath it?”
Rhea nodded. “I do. What does it mean?”
“A freedom fighter.”
They all stood in silence staring down at the boy. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, his face still chubby with youth and his hair long, tied back with a thin leather thong, the loose strands falling across his face soaked with blood.
Rhea knelt down and looked deep in the boy’s eyes. He looked toward the sky, his pale green gaze empty. “What would a freedom fighter be doing here in a battle between the gods?”
Taelor shook his head. “He wouldn’t.”
Rhea looked up at him, her eyebrows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
Taelor considered the question while his eyes scanned the boy’s body. He then knelt down, and with a delicate finger brushed the boy’s tunic aside on his hip, revealing a small leather pouch that hung from his belt. Unclasping the buckle, he lifted the pouch and opened it, revealing a sack of gold coins and a small roll of paper, tied together with a red ribbon, crushed and filthy among the currency.
“Looks like he was bought by one side or another,” Roan commented.
Taelor nodded, pulling the rolled parchment from the sack. He tossed the coins on the ground and unrolled the paper, lifting it to his eyes as they scanned it twice.
“Well?” Roan asked.
Taelor cleared his throat, frowning. “By order of King Elgaaris, I hereby grant you freedom under my rule when the war is won in exchange for services in the Army.” He rolled up the small paper in his hand, his eyes alight with fury.
“King Elgaaris?” Arry laughed, shaking his head. “Seemed to have jumped the gun on that one a little bit.”
“So Elgaaris paid the freedom fighters to come over to his side?” Rhea asked.
“Seems everyone can be bought for a price,” Keaven said, scowling.
Grayson turned away, his energy seething, prickling Rhea’s skin like ice-cold electricity. “Even those who have sworn to protect the innocent and uphold peace, it would seem.”
Rhea looked around and recognized the same symbol on many of the breastplates that these men wore.
“I’ve heard about the freedom fighters before,” Rhea said, recalling memories she had buried deep. “My father spoke of them like a plague, people too weak to choose a side.” Her lower lip trembled as she looked down at the boy.
“Your father wasn’t much for the idea of peace,” Roan said.
“No, he was not.”
Taelor glared down at the boy. “This fighter was a traitor to those fighting for peace.”
Rhea shook her head, frowning. “You don’t know that. For all you know, Elgaaris threatened these men’s lives. Their families, their children, we don’t know their reasons for joining either side.”
Taelor turned, gazing out at the horizon as the sun began to dip below the distant hills. “We had better go. We want to get out of here before it gets dark.”
He began walking away, and after a long minute, Rhea sighed and followed him. The other four stayed close to her, their steps careful as they walked over the bodies that littered the ground.
Rhea’s stomach lurched as they passed hundreds upon hundreds of men and boys. The smell of flesh and blood stung her tongue, and she held her gaze toward the horizon, doing her best to stay strong. Inwardly, she wept for these people. But seeing all this death, the endless bodies strewn on the ground, reinforced he
r position that she wanted nothing to do with this world—nothing to do with the gods and their darkness. Besides, what was one small girl going to do against armies that were capable of this?
Nearly half an hour passed before they neared the edge of the battlefield. The corpses began to thin, exposing the dry grass and opening larger paths for them to walk. So many dried puddles of blood littered the ground that they were forced to walk through them, and the grass crunched beneath their feet.
Rhea came to a stop when she passed a body on the ground. Something about it caught her attention, and she looked down at it, her eyes searching. Taelor noticed her stop and turned, approaching her.
“What is it?” His eyes settled on the helmet, his head tilting with curiosity.
“I don’t know,” Rhea said. She knelt down, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings of the metal armor that covered the body’s face. She was drawn to the symbols, something about them told her this one was different from the rest.
Her eyes lingered on the exposed neck, the thin lines of the body’s shoulders. This was the body of a woman, she thought.
Rhea sucked in a breath, holding it in while she slowly lifted the front lid of the helm. She gasped when the face was revealed. Stepping back, she stumbled slightly and landed on her elbows on the ground. Taelor reached down and lifted her, his strong hand under her arm until she was steady.
“Who is it?”
Rhea shook her head slowly, her skin prickling with the freezing air that wrapped around her, penetrating her skin. “Demenaelar,” she whispered.
She bent down again, peering deep into the woman’s face. Rhea’s eyes welled with tears. With one hand, she closed the woman’s eyelids, shutting those faint lavender eyes to the world forever.
“You knew her?”
Rhea nodded. “She was Elgaaris’s guardian. One of his three, anyway. Not the easiest woman to get along with. She was always too intense and she frightened me when I was a child, but she was kind in her own way. I remember once running away from my father and crying for hours beneath the stone steps of the East cellar. She found me, and brought me a candied sanguine lily.”