by Osku Alanen
“Gentlemen,” Raven spoke with a grave tone. “I’m afraid we have no choice but to halt our quest for a moment. I am sorry to say this, Ronan, but I fear I can no longer aid you.”
Ronan nodded. “What do you plan to do?”
Raven pointed at the horde down in the valley. “I mean to parley with their leader.”
“It’s a suicide,” Ronan whispered. “I can’t let you do this.”
“You can, and you will. I told you of my past; I know their customs, their laws. They won’t harm me. There are people who trust me within the Empire still, and I will damn well do my best to prevent another senseless conflict. Rose. Rust. I want you to accompany Ronan and head for Eyria with haste. You must warn them of what is to come.”
War, Ronan thought with grim realization. The voice in his head echoed his thoughts.
War.
***
They stood in dreadful silence, watching Raven and Avalon slowly depart for the horde waiting for them down in the valley. Then, fearing scouts might spot them this close to their camp, they made haste for Eyria. They ran through the vast plains, Rust as their guide. Ronan couldn’t help but think of Raven and of his bravery. What could possess a man to risk his life so? Raven’s dream was nothing like Ronan’s; it made his pale in comparison. It was a noble pursuit—unity—aye, but unachievable. Men always warred. Nothing could change the nature of men, no matter how much Raven tried.
Ronan had no interest in nations, riches, men. Only his family mattered. Ronan owed nothing for the Eyrians. Did it make him shallow—cold? Why should he care for people he had never even met? But he knew war, and if Eira had truly taken his son there, then he had no choice. The sense of duty might have been absent for Ronan, but it was what drove Rust now. It was clear as day—the haunted look on his face. And if Rust cared deeply for the people of his homeland, then he would do his best to help him.
They stayed near the tree lines to avoid detection by scouts the Nubian forces had no doubt sent ahead. The excruciating march well into the next morning had taken its toll on everyone, and Ronan was shocked to find himself far ahead of his two companions. The thought of seeing his son had given him strength to push through the pain and weakness of his body. He heard their curses, feeling a sliver of quilt; he was not the only one with loved ones to lose.
Ronan felt his knees tremble, their last strength slowly fading as the adrenaline left his body. This would be as good a place for a camp as any. Already, the sun had set, and the stars covered the calm, cloudless skies. The outskirts of the forest provided decent enough coverage from curious eyes.
“Thank you,” Rust gasped for air as he reached Ronan.
“Ease up, will you?” Rose panted, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“Sorry,” Ronan muttered to himself. He had surprised to find the two so winded; they were obviously not as well used to long marches on foot as Ronan had. He had to remind himself that no matter how well-versed they were in battle, these two were not Northmen. His people were nomads, traveling on foot from place to place, no matter how hard it was. He had no doubt Raven would have preferred to travel by horse—he seemed the kind, to prefer the comfort. Unlucky for them, they couldn’t purchase any in Twisthorn.
“How long until the capital, you reckon?”
“If we keep up the pace, I would say another two days and as many nights,” Rust answered.
Rose groaned aloud, massaging her feet. Her boots were all but ruined, and when she removed them, he could see her feet were covered in blisters. “Can you walk with those? It looks painful.”
“I’ll manage,” Rose answered. “Don’t worry about it.” She opened her backpack. Luckily, they had the wisdom to gather supplies as they expected the road to Eyria to be harsh.
“Alright then,” Rust said, yawning. He raised himself up, knees shaking with effort. It was good to keep moving after marches like these—or one might not be able to move the next morning. “I’ll go gather us some firewood. I think we can light a fire here safely. We are already a day’s march from the war camp, and there’s been no sight of scouting parties. Don’t sit still too long, Rose, or the muscles of your legs will stiffen, and you’ll be in no condition to walk tomorrow.”
“I know,” she answered, biting off a piece of cloth as she finished wrapping her feet. “It’s not my first march, Northman.”
“I’ll join you,” Ronan said. He didn’t feel like staying in the camp alone with Rose. He had already hard time having a simple conversation with the woman, and now that she was in pain, he would do damn well to avoid her. Something about him seemed to piss off the woman, and Ronan didn’t have the slightest clue what. He knew that Raven had saved her, too, but was it enough a reason for her to risk her life to warn the Eyrians? What did she have in Eyria worth protecting?
“Do you have family left in Eyria?” Ronan asked when he caught up with Rust.
Rust shrugged—or so Ronan thought. It was getting too dark to see. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s been years since I’ve been home.” He paused for a moment. “My mother should still live, aye, and my sister certainly does. We didn’t leave exactly in the… best of terms. They lived in a village, not far from the capital. In fact, if we keep heading this way, we’ll pass right by it.”
Ronan nodded. “I see.”
Finding dry wood proved surprisingly difficult, so they had to manage with a few damp branches. But if they had any luck, they might still burn. The air in the south was warm enough to survive a night without a fire, but it certainly wouldn’t be comfortable—not when they were all covered in sweat.
“Rust?”
“Yes?”
“What do you think they will do to Raven?”
“To be honest, I have no damn clue.” His voice quivered. “The bastards kept me locked in a cage, day and night. I often slept in my own feces. The only time they let me stretch my legs was when they tortured me for information. That is the enemy we are facing. Raven might have gotten along with the bastards, but I sure as hell won’t.”
“Right.”
They walked back to the campsite. Rose had finished dressing her blisters, and she eyed Ronan suspiciously. Thankfully, they still had plenty of supplies left, so there was no need to go hunting in the middle of the night.
“What do we do if they capture him?” Ronan said while he gnawed on the salted beef he had with him.
Rust shrugged. “We better hope it doesn’t come to that. But once we’ve sent word for the King, I’m going back for him, Ronan. I don’t expect you to do the same, not when you have a chance to reunite with your son—but I will. I owe him that. But Raven is smart; he’ll think of something. So, don’t you worry about him. And besides, he was Avalon to guard him. Not many a man dares raising a finger against a Magus.”
“Aye,” Ronan grunted. He had witnessed Avalon’s capabilities first hand. How could a single man wield so much… power?
“Don’t sell the man sort, Rust,” Rose snorted. “Raven can talk himself out of anything. If we’re lucky, he’ll be leading their armies when we see him next.”
Rust chuckled. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
Sleep came easy for them that night. Still, the danger of scouts stumbling upon them while they slept was too large a risk to ignore, so one of them had to stay awake. Ronan had the first turn, which he was grateful for; he had trouble keeping his eyes open, already. He had pushed himself too far, forgetting his aging body, and he was under no illusion he would have to pay the price tomorrow.
When it was his turn to rest, Ronan fell asleep almost immediately. He dreamt of the Northern Islands and of his son, back when he was not much older than a baby, barely able to walk. Ronan knew this was a dream—but he let it carry out nonetheless. It was a happy memory for him.
The first snows of the year had fallen during the night. Keran had always liked the snow, and he had waited for this moment eagerly. His son was overjoyed. He jumped around merrily, catching the falling
flakes with his mouth. They were out so long Ronan was starting to fear Keran would soon catch frostbite.
Eira came out of the cabin, smiling at the sight. That was when they were more than friends, still. She smiled at Ronan, but when she saw Keran’s cold hands, she chastised him, rushing the boy back into her cabin.
The warmth of the fireplace brought back the color to Keran’s cheeks and hands in no time, and Eira’s frown quickly vanished, turning into a joyful laughter. Ronan looked at his son, smiling. He then turned back, waiting to see Eira. Much to his surprise, she wasn’t there. Had she gone back out?
Ronan then looked back at Keran, noticing he was sweating. Worried his son might be catching an illness, he placed his fingers on Keran’s forehead, but when he did, he screamed in horror as his hand caught afire.
“What’s wrong, daddy?” Keran asked, cocking his head, the curious, innocent eyes looking at him with confusion.
With his hand afire, Ronan rushed to the basin of water by the door, dipping his hand into it. This seemed to extinguish his smoking hand, and Ronan sighed, relieved.
“Daddy, I don’t feel well,” Keran complained.
Ronan looked back at his son, and to his horror, saw his flesh melting in front of his eyes.
No. No. No. This isn’t what happened.
He then looked down at his hand, only to see that the water itself had caught afire. The fire then spread into the curtains, and the cabin itself was soon in flames. The flames licked Ronan’s face, and in a mere moment, the cabin itself was engulfed in fiery doom.
He saw his son fall to the ground, now nothing more than a smoldering corpse. He was too late. He had failed to save his son once again.
Ronan woke up, panting. He touched his forehead; it was covered in cold sweat, as were his clothes. “A dream. It was nothing but a dream,” Ronan whispered to himself. His son was safe. In Eyria. Keran was with Eira.
“Ugh.”
“Aah.”
Ronan’s trembling fingers went for his axes, fearing that someone had surprised them while they slept. What was going on? It was Rose’s turn to stay awake, wasn’t it?
Ronan turned his head, expecting to see the two of them sleeping by him. Instead, he saw the outlines of two people together, moaning.
Oh.
He saw Rust, atop of Rose, thrusting in and out of her in quick succession. He saw Rose’s fingernails digging into the man’s scarred flesh, and he heard her quiet moans. Slowly, to make sure they didn’t discover he was awake, Ronan turned his back to them.
So that’s why you stayed.
It was nice to see the girl had something she cared for, after all.
***
“What are you looking at?” Rose said with a scowl.
“Nothing.” He had to try his hardest to suppress a smile, fearing the woman would punch him if he did smile. It was best to stay quiet, he knew, with a girl like Rose.
They packed their things, hiding any trace of their campsite before resuming their march towards Eyria. Slowly, the vast plains receded, and the barren hills around them turned into arable land. They even begun to see the first signs of a civilization. A small village. Then another. Rust chose to make a stop at each of them, begging for farmers and hunters alike to seek shelter in the capital. More than once they called him a liar, a thief, thinking he would pillage the village in their absence. It slowed their march considerably, but saving lives was worth the cost, Ronan had to admit. The villagers’ blatant refusals were infuriating, aye, but could he blame them, really? If a stranger told them that a foreign force was about to invade, would he leave his home, his every possession, behind? Could he?
When the capital was only a day’s march away, they stumbled upon a small village, which Rust recognized at once. After a mere moment’s disbelief, the village elders recognized the estranged soldier, welcoming him home with open arms. His arrival was not without grief, however, as they shared the news of his mother’s passing. Rust took the news with grim determination; there would be a time for grief, but it wasn’t now. The elders took Rust’s warning with gravity, and they told him that their every men, women, and child would soon follow them.
A day later, they arrived at the capital. And much to Ronan’s horror, they were denied entrance.
Chapter 13
Alessia
The world shook Alessia violently awake as the carriage came to a sudden stop, the momentum throwing her against the hard wood. She hit the wall with painful force, and if not for her bound lips, she would have screamed in pain. She tried lifting herself up, but her arms were bound behind her back.
“Sorry, sorry! My apologies, princess.”
An elderly, kindly-looking man jumped off the carriage with surprising agility. He approached the back, saw the painful position Alessia was forced to stay in, lifted her up with strength far beyond a man his age should have, and removed the gag covering her mouth.
“It’s these damn old bulls. They must be blind, I tell you. Everything all right, dear? Wouldn’t want to hurt such a valuable cargo, no sir!” The man’s lips curled into a revolting smile, a smile she would recognize anywhere. He removed the gag from Alessia’s mouth.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She felt nauseous from the drug she had been forced to ingest at Rodrik’s cabin. The memory came rushing back to her. “You killed him, didn’t you? You killed Rodrik.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. I did no such thing!” the assassin sighed, shaking his head while clicking his tongue. “Don’t you get it? There never was a Rodrik. It was me all along, princess: I was your Rodrik.”
“No,” she gasped. She felt her heart crumble into tiny pieces. He was lying, wasn’t he? He had known Rodrik for close to a year. He had been the stable boy to their household ever since old Merrek had died. It had to have been a lie. It had to. “You’re lying,” Alessia said, face quivering with anger, defiance, disbelief.
The old, kindly man shrugged, and as he did, his face melted off. Gone was the elderly man. In his stead, the assassin with a wrinkled face and a crooked nose stared at her. Even his voice had changed. “We all have a duty, my lady, which we simply must complete. It might’ve taken a while, but in the end, I succeeded. Now, that can’t be said for you, can it? Princess Alessia vas Nerian, the sole ‘heir’ to the Eyrian throne.”
Alessia bit her lip. She knew the man was taunting her, but he was right, wasn’t he? She had run away from her duty, leaving her father alone when he needed her the most. She thought the reason noble: to find her brothers’ killer. Well, she had found the assassin, but not even remotely like she had intended. There had to be a way to make things right. She needed to find a way to escape.
But how? My hands are tied, and I have not even the faintest clue where I am.
“Still,” the man said. “I must give your plan credit. You assumed the assassin would do everything in his power to finish the task, didn’t you? You were a most convincing liar, indeed, my dear. The poison that killed your youngest brother was too large for anyone to survive, but a professional such as myself couldn’t risk the chance. Oh, my master would not hear the end of it if I did!”
“But how,” Alessia whispered, “how would you know this? You weren’t there.”
The assassin chuckled. “Oh, but I was, my dear. I was.”
Alessia swallowed. “You were one of the inquisitors there, weren’t you?”
The assassin showed a wicked grin. “Correct, my dear. You are as intelligent as they claim.”
Not intelligent enough, Alessia thought, swallowing the man’s bitter words with reluctance.
“Unfortunately, I had no choice but to dispose of my partner. I knew I had done my duty, and the male heirs were dead, but I had to make sure. I could have killed you right there in the closet, but I was intrigued.” The assassin took a deep breath. “Did you realize that I never left the Royal Plateau? All I needed to do was to take your sweet Rodrik’s face. I thought to observe you for a moment longer, but when I stumbled
onto you the night you made your escape, you piqued my interest, my dear. So, I decided to follow you.”
Alessia could do nothing but hear the words this… monster spouted. There was nothing for her to do here, nothing but silently swallow her tears. Even if she somehow managed to escape, she was on foot. How far would she even get? Holding back the rage she felt welling up inside her, she listened.
“I decided to follow you then. What would the princess do, I wondered? I know you thought yourself a scholar, for you had shared it with your beloved ‘Rodrik’, so I knew the library would be the most probable place to find you. I saw the old scholar you talked with, and for a moment I thought I should take his place and lure you with him, but that would have been too easy.”
“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Alessia said, voice breaking.
The assassin gasped. “By the gods, no! I would never hurt the elderly. What kind of a man do you take me for? Why, even us assassins have standards, I should have you know, my dear!”
So, you are safe yet, doctor. At least one innocent life has been spared by my naivete, she thought, bitterness drowning her thoughts.
“I followed you into that lively tavern, wearing the face of the boy I know you cherished. I decided to toy with you a little. And to my surprise, you fell right into my trap. All it took was a drink or two. Oh, I just must tell you, my dear, the night we made love, it was truly wonderous. How sweet you tasted. Such innocence. I was your first, wasn’t I? Did I get it right? You can tell me. I won’t tell a soul—I promise.”
“You monster,” Alessia whispered. That night came rushing back to her mind—the fond memory replaced by the horrifying nightmare of reality. She felt like she was drowning. She wept, uncontrollably. This man had shed every layer Alessia had worn. The composed, calm scholar was gone, crushed. She kept crying, not minding that this monster saw her at her weakest. She let him wipe away her tears, feeling too powerless to fight back. Nothing mattered to her anymore. This man had taken everything from her. Her family. Her Rodrik. Her sense of self. He had taken them all from her, stomped on them, crushed them into tiny pieces until only dust remained.