“I don’t mean that in jest, Corporal. What you did was quite heroic.” Helfria leaned forward. “Corporal Octavius Nero, the lone survivor of the 8th Regiment, sneaks through miles of occupied territory and swims across the Pisces River in frigid weather to return to his post; that’s the news on everyone’s lips from the World’s Edge Mountains to the Storm Line. You don’t see that as admirable?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Nero swallowed and broke eye contact. “I just don’t like the title of ‘hero’ very much.”
“Yet you agreed to go on this tour with me, did you not?”
Nero huffed. “The king asked me to my face. Was I supposed to reject him?”
Helfria would not let the conversation slip away. “Then perhaps you don’t understand the reason for this. The people are terrified, Corporal. This invasion is unlike anything in our history. Entire regiments are gone. The Wilderness no longer belongs to us; everything below the Pisces is abandoned and passage over the remaining bridges is prohibited.”
She reached out and touched his knee, gaining his attention. “We thought the Greimere had taken everything there, but you got through. You made it back to Thromdale and gave a reconnaissance report directly to the king, the first since this invasion began. People need that story, Corporal. They need to know that a Saban braved the Greimere and survived because until you appeared our people had begun to think it was impossible.”
“I told you, Senator, I got lucky. It wasn’t as if I fought my way out.” Nero fought back the urge to raise his voice.
“The Fates smiled upon you and so many of our people follow the Fates fervently. These are the people who you will inspire with your appearance.” Helfria pushed the drapes aside on the carriage window and gazed out at the fields. “Commoners and Citizens from all over are converging in the five largest cities in the west just to see you on a stage and hear your descriptions of the enemy; to hear of the fall of Ft. Augustus and how you clawed your way out of the Wilderness. My cousins, Nobles of the Caelum blood, will be in attendance in at least two of those cities. They need a young Saban who has been face-to-face with the Greimere to tell them victory is possible.”
Nero turned away and looked out the window. He understood the reason behind sending him all over Rellizbix, but it did not feel right.
Within a week of being found by the 4th Regiment along the shore of the Pisces, Nero knelt before King Helfrick Caelum in a private debriefing with the Command General and no one else. The king wanted his unadulterated report and seemed very anxious about any information he might have about the Greimere Warlord. Nero could tell him very little regarding the Warlord, of course, and felt a great shame in relating his escape from Duransk.
“Your Highness, Augustus may still yet stand and I am well rested. I am eager to rejoin my regiment so we may join with the 7th and break the siege.” Nero hoped to make a good impression, although inside, the idea of going back into battle against the Greimere petrified him.
The king and General Regulus exchanged glances before the general addressed him. “Son, I assumed someone in your escort might have already told you. The 7th Regiment was annihilated in battle against the Greimere at Galveronne Prison, save a few Twileens sent back with the battered armor of General Arcturus.”
Nero stared at the general without speaking, but the man continued. “There has been no word from any of the towns the 8th were defending. We got the 10th Training Regiment out of Ft. Draymmond, but the Wilderness has been dark ever since.”
King Helfrick placed his hands on Nero’s shoulders as the boy swayed on his heels. “I’m sorry you’re just now hearing this, Corporal. As of now, it seems you are all that remains of the Winter Guard.”
Nero could not speak. He could not look up to meet the eyes of his king. All his focus went toward keeping his composure and swallowing the cries threatening to rise from his gut. His grandfather was a Citizen who supplied food straight to the Royal Dining Hall and yet had never been in the same room as the King, yet here Nero stood in direct contact with the living scion of Throm Caelum and all he could do was stare at the man’s breastplate and imagine the slaughter of his comrades.
“Be you a king or a corporal, the death of comrades is never easy.” King Helfrick backed away and went toward the door of the room. “General, see that the Corporal bunks in a secure barracks within the walls for now. I don’t want him in the public eye just yet. And see that he gets a proper debriefing of the situation. We owe him that.”
Nero was given an empty bay in the Royal Guard’s wing of the capitol.
“Respect these walls during your stay, Corporal. Every bunk here once belonged to a man whose soul now haunts the lands beyond the Hell Cliffs.” General Regulus hit his gauntlet on the rack that Nero was to take. “We’ve all had our losses this time around. For the time being you are attached to the 1st Regiment Military Intelligence Corps. We’ll get you a uniform and a patch, but until further orders you are confined to quarters.”
Nero did not wait around for long. After only a day of being confined to the barracks, the King started grooming him for a meeting with the Senate. Embellished stories of his escape from the Wilderness adorned fliers that were scattered in the streets of Thromdale. “The Hero of the Wilderness” became his title without his permission. Then the King summoned him for a meeting with his eldest daughter, Senator Helfria Caelum.
The King explained his idea for a morale-boosting tour of the heartland of Rellizbix, to show the people a victory over the Greimere in Nero’s escape. The King personally requested this of him and then sent him on the road with the princess.
For weeks, the two of them travelled in an armed escort through the Central Plains and into the Western Timbers. At each major city, Nero stood on a stage and recounted a story concocted by the Bard’s Guild scarcely resembling his true ordeal. He left out Chev’El as the king thought it might dampen the “Saban Victory.” He also left out how his cowardice against the blue-haired warrior had led to his team being massacred. This omission was all his; he had not even mentioned it to the King. He had wanted to, but when he began his retelling, he just kind of slipped past that part.
After his public appearance came the private parties thrown by nobles and renowned Citizens. He met with dukes and duchesses, Helfria’s younger sister and her new husband, and even the head of the Cattlemen’s Guild, who recognized him as the grandson of Silas Septimus.
“Your grandfather must be overwhelmed, Corporal.” The head of the Guild was a tall bull of a man with the type of wide-brimmed hat popular among plainsmen living under the open sun. He cornered Nero near the outside gazebo just outside of the mob of citizens in fancy dress. “I had a son. Trevius Crete, pride of my name! He was a Sergeant in the 9th… made me so proud, because everyone knows the 9th sees all the action.”
The tall Saban announced the last part loudly, but trailed off at the end. At some point in the past, Nero imagined the spirited cattleman bragging about the claim to everyone he met. Unlike his family, here was a man who would’ve encouraged his son into service. And yet, unlike his grandfather, this man stumbled around the party with a red face and a collar in complete disarray.
Then the cattleman grew quiet and contemplative as his wine nearly toppled from his hand. He stared off into the distance as he spoke to Nero. “It took me most of my life, but I became Guild Leader just before Trevius shipped out. Some of the things I did to get here may damn my soul, but I didn’t care. I’ve never been the kind of man who lets anything or anyone get in the way of what I wanted. I now control every bovine in Rellizbix Proper. Every steak, every flank, every jug of milk— it all passes through me.”
The man took a shaky sip and continued staring as his red eyes glossed over. “I would give it all away for just a few moments… just to tell him…”
He shook his head and huffed, as if suddenly waking up. He took a large swig from his cup then clapped Nero on the shoulder. “Bah! It’s good that ol’
Silas has you back. Remember the 9th, though, eh?”
“Remember the 9th,” Nero replied, raising his glass to the man.
…
“You never told me that you were part of the Septimus family.” Helfria brought Nero out of his thoughts as they passed through the forest toward the coast. “That’s a much-respected family. My mother cooks your lobsters on the eve of every Thromdelion, just at the start of the fresh season. I bet they’ll be at Old Harbor when we arrive.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. I haven’t spoken to any of them since leaving for basic training. My grandfather didn’t approve of my enlistment. He thought I would die.”
“And yet you’re the only one who did not. You haven’t even written them since returning?”
Nero shifted, uncomfortable with the judgment he felt from Helfria. Over the course of their time together, they had conversed a lot and grown very close.
“I’m not getting on to you, Octavius.” She seemed to sense his apprehension and eased up. Helfria was very intense during their conversations. It came from being the only female senator, but she could read him so made efforts to adjust. “They’ll be happy to see you well; I just know it.”
As Helfria had assumed, Nero’s family massed in the crowd at Old Harbor on the Storm Line, along with his entire town. Banners adorned the gathering with Nero’s name and hometown. The square could not hold the all seafarers and sailors, fishermen and trappers. To his surprise, a massive group of Twileens had come to see him, including Hunters from the 6th Regiment.
At the very front of the audience stood Nero’s uncles and aunts; and in the middle of all of them Nero found his grandfather.
“I sent word as soon as I found out to make sure they were given room at the front. I hope I was not overstepping our friendship.” Helfria squeezed his shoulders and smiled at him before taking the stage to make his introduction.
Looking out over the crowd of his people, roaring and cheering harder than any of the assemblies from larger cities, all for him, Nero seemed unable to speak.
Helfria noticed and took over to give him time. “I think most of you already know, but Corporal Octavius Nero is finally home today.”
The crowd cheered even harder. “It’s been a long journey for him… a difficult one. His family is right here in the front row.”
Nero mouthed a “thank you” to her and took his spot on the stage.
Nero unfolded his tale of seeing the warriors attack Duransk, of how all of them were females with dark skin and eyes as black as night. He told of his brave sergeant holding the line and the whole time he would not stop looking at the group of Twileens standing apart from the Sabans.
When he paused the speech, Helfria started forward to cover for him once again. Maybe this crowd didn’t need the full story.
Before she reached him, he started back up, but this time the words deviated from his script.
“I’m sorry, but I think I need to go into a bit more detail here. I’ve been leaving a big part out up until now, but I owe it to my people to speak the truth.” Nero pointed at the group of Twileens. “I owe it to you.”
Nero took a deep breath. “I did not escape Duransk on my own. During my time in the village I developed a good relationship with a woodsman and his adoptive daughter, a Twileen girl named Chev’El. When the Greimere warriors killed my team in the woods outside of Duransk, they lashed me to a tree and left a guard to ensure I witnessed the destruction of the village and the deaths of my men.”
The crowd grew quiet, unused to hearing the dreadful parts of war. Even Helfria tensed, worried that the Corporal might divulge even more gruesome facts and terrify the people.
“Chev’El was just a girl. She was weird and nobody liked her. The townsfolk didn’t even want here there. She could have taken her father and escaped at the first sign of attack. She didn’t owe our men anything.”
Nero paused and rubbed the sar tissue around his neck where the ropes had dug into him. “She came back for me. She found me in the woods as a Greimere warrior prepared to end my life. This girl… this Twileen killed the warrior and pulled me from the brink of death. While she saved me, the Greimere killed her father in his home. We buried him and my men there at Duransk. If not for her compassion and her sacrifice, I would just be another rotting corpse in the forest. It wasn’t stone-cold Saban grit that got me home; it was a fearless Twileen. I would not be here if not for her.”
The crowd murmured and the Twileens looked at each other with confusion as Nero continued. “She would not come with me across the river. She stayed because the Wilderness is her home and the Greimere do not belong there.”
Nero stepped forward and raised his voice to a shout, throwing his arm forward like a spear toward the south. “She is still there now, waiting in the shadow of an oak to strike at the invaders. Chev’El refused to yield her home to these barbarians. We must do the same. We’ve taken some hits, but this is our home. We must take these losses and burn them for fuel.”
The roar of the crowd rocked the piers. Nero saluted the crowd and then cried out over them. “Remember the 9th! Remember them all! We will not yield!”
The cheers of “We won’t yield!” carried on in the crowd for minutes without cease as Nero left the stage and prepared for lunch with the Harbor Master and the Fisherman’s Guild. Helfria wrapped her arms around him and held him for several moments before breaking away.
“That was unexpected… but the right thing to say. We need unity now more than ever.”
…
Helfria called it a night early cancelling the evening party at the pier so she could surprise Nero as they got in the carriage to head north for lodging. Half an hour after passing up the second inn, Nero realized where they were headed.
“This isn’t an authorized stop. The King won’t like this,” Nero said.
Helfria smiled. “The King isn’t going to know about this.”
The entire Septimus family had gathered outside the ranch home where he had lived for nearly his entire life. The shrimp boil stretched across two tables. Nero’s uncle Bacilius greeted them at the gate and embraced him for what felt like an eternity. When he broke away, his eyes were red, but he said little more than how happy he was to have Nero home.
His family accepted Helfria graciously, thanking her for setting up the meeting so that they could be with Nero. The members of the escort even joined in for the dinner. At the start of the feast, Silas made his appearance and everyone grew silent. The knot in Nero’s gut threatened to break him in half as he waited for the patriarch’s words.
“The last time you and I shared this table, I told you that enlisting was the worst mistake you had ever made. I told you that you were in over your head, that you were not soldier material and that you would surely die in the Wilderness.” The old trap master’s hand trembled as he raised his cup. “Tonight, I feast on those words like broiled filet. Welcome home, Corporal Octavius Nero… my grandson.”
Nero felt relieved as the tearful members of his family broke into laughter and his uncle shook him by the shoulder. He finally felt the acceptance he had always wanted from his family, yet he felt sad because it cost losing every member of his other family.
Relief did not last the night. Tiny things his kin said and did stacked on top of him like bricks. He brushed off the weight of the first bricks: simple jokes about the things that used to terrify him, harassment for never writing from his stations, mock jabs thrown by his cousins who used to torment him as a child.
The load did not lighten. He should have felt relaxed at home, but instead he felt anxious. When he couldn’t relax he grew frustrated. His family told stories in front of Helfria that he felt were inappropriate. They took liberties, broke decorum – all things normal, excited civilians did, but this time felt different. The laughter and song and praise served only to cage him in.
They carried on like some victory had occurred, but how many families went to sleep that night praying to the Fates
for the souls of their sons and husbands? How many families ate dinner under a Rellizbix banner delivered to them in place of a body to bury?
“I dare the Greimere to show their ugly faces on this ranch.” Nero snapped out of his thoughts and stared across the table at some great uncle he barely knew who appeared to be on his twelfth cup of wine. “If they think one Septimus was tough, wait til they go up against the whole family!”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Nero’s voice carried over the conversations and drew the great-uncle’s attention, as well as Bacilius.
“Don’t mind Uncle Glivet,” Bacilius said, putting his hand on Nero’s shoulder.
“It means...” Glivet rose in his seat to address Nero, but Silas raised his hand.
“That’s enough, Glivet. You’re past the point of making sense to anyone.”
“Oh, I can make sense of it.” Nero downed his wine and stood to take the jug from the table. “You think the Greimere are a joke… that they can be easily handled by a bunch of lobster farmers.”
“Nobody thinks that, Octavius.” Bacilius reached over to take the jug from him.
Nero jerked it back, sloshing wine on himself and his uncle. “Oh, nobody thinks that. Of course they don’t.”
He stepped over his bench and away from the table, taking the jug with him. “You’re all just sitting around laughing! What a big win we just got, eh? Octavius is back home where he belongs after some big misadventure.”
Nero took a drink straight from the jug. “I had friends, dammit. I had a lieutenant who was nice to me. I had a sergeant who trusted me. I lead men in battle. They’re all dead. I buried them in Duransk without their armor.”
Nero clapped his hand to his face and laughed. “Oh, none of you even know what that means. I forgot; none of you are soldiers.”
“Nero, what’s going on?” Helfria dismounted the bench at the table and approached him. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, something is really wrong, Senator.” Nero waved the jug of wine without drinking from it. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but everyone I’ve served with is dead. I don’t know, maybe no one here has heard the news. They’re certainly not fucking acting like it.”
Wrath of the Greimere (Hell Cliffs Book 2) Page 12