Bane of a Nation

by A J Burns

  “I like how you can all agree that it’s not somebody here,” said Ritek. “Easily. Quickly. It’s so convenient, yeah?”

  Gregh blew a puff of smoke in his face.

  “Count your blessings, Tekotaur.” He turned and slammed into a chamberlain as he exited. The chamberlain couldn’t stop himself from giving the faintest smile.

  “What are you laughing at?” Evoru snapped at him.

  The chamberlain was who had sliced Eryek’s throat. He detested him; but more importantly, he had been promised seven iron coins for committing the deed.

  8

  Fryne Hempson

  Raurian Citizen

  Teardrops of black and blue trickled down her cheek and splashed onto her bosom, ruining her favorite white-dress, which she had worn specifically for Evoru. She removed all the sophistication she had spent hours perfecting, from the earrings she unclasped to the diamond bracelet she had pegged the mirror with. What she saw now was a woman distraught and pathetic. She bowed her head into the cuff of her hands and wept.

  When Evoru had sat to her left for dinner, it felt like he was sitting around the world to her right. What catalyst had caused their rupture, she didn’t know; but it was a cancer, slowly spreading into everything that she loved. Her passion had never waned but his had nulled, and she knew it would not return. She hoped, prayed, begged that it would, but her naivety had deserted her; and in its stead was a harsh realization.

  She could handle the dinnerless nights and half-empty bed. Her husband’s bureaucracy demanded such; but when he did sleep beside her, she thought it perfunctory at best. Husbands and wives slept together, and he wouldn’t have had a desire to sleep on the cold, lumpy couch by himself. She could accept the love lost, maybe; what she yearned for was an explanation, an inkling of reason from that stubborn mind of his.

  Nothing of any particular significance had happened tonight; but after nearly a year of this feeling, her emotions were unable to support her facade.

  Gregh had followed her to the bedroom. As he shut the door behind him, Fryne wished he would change direction and forget she had ever existed.

  He put his arms around her shoulders. “Do I even need to ask?”

  “I cannot let this go any further,” said Fryne as she slid from his grasp. She was reluctant to look into his eyes. For such a strong man, he looked pitiful this night. “It’s not right.”

  “I know what I feel, and there’s nothing wrong with…. I’ve never been happier than with you.”

  She couldn’t tell him that he meant little to nothing, that she had been lonely: that, ultimately, he was a huge regret. She wouldn’t do that to him. “It’s not that easy,” she said. “Evoru and I are married. You have a family.”

  “Evoru treats you like shit.”

  “He’s my husband.” She grabbed his hand and held it tightly. His touch put no flutters in her stomach, nor had it ever. “He and I have been through everything together.”

  “Have been.” Gregh pulled away from her grip. “That means nothing. Live for what you have in front of you right now.”

  “It’s not that easy.” There was no changing his mind, and if she hadn’t known that before, she realized that now.

  “You two aren’t meant for each other,” he pleaded. “He doesn’t love you.”

  “This is for me to decide.”

  “What about me?” He backed away from her. “Do I have no say in the matter? Huh?”

  “I’m not ready to throw it all away.” She took a tissue to her eyes, dabbing softly at the smeared mascara. “Give me some time.” Here she was again, leading him on; but he would never accept the truth. She was tired of the bickering and pleading, and she wished that he could understand.

  “He doesn’t love you,” he said brusquely. “I would do anything for you, and it means nothing to you. You deserve better. I deserve better.”

  “Please, Gregh, try and see where I’m coming from.”

  “How could anybody see where you’re coming from?” His tone had become bitter or sorrowful, but she didn’t know which. “You don’t make any sense.”

  “If you loved me, you’d want to see me happy.”

  “Yeah, by my side.” He kneeled in front of her, staring into her eyes. “That’s not the way love works, and you know it.”

  She did know that, but it was the easiest thing to say. “If you can’t understand what I’m going through, then just leave.”

  “If I walk out of that door, I’m never coming back.” He stood. “If that’s what you want, just tell me and I’ll go, but I’m done being strung along.”

  “Gregh….” This was her chance, but she couldn’t finish it so harshly. “I love you. I will always love you, but I need time to think. I—”

  “I won’t be your second choice, Fryne. I’m not going to wait around for you forever. Do you want me or do you not?”

  “Not in that way,” she admitted. “Please leave. This day has taken everything out of me.”

  “Fine.” He opened the door and glanced behind one more time. “Live in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life. What do I care?” He slammed the door as he exited.

  She gave up on removing her makeup, opting for a warm bath instead. Water dropped from the faucet as she worked the pump. One by one she would place the pots atop the bath-stove and light the burners beneath them. When the water was scalding, she would dump it into the brazen tub and scent it with bath salts. The heat of the bath put her at ease, but it seemed like only minutes had passed by the time it was lukewarm. She slipped into a nightgown and crawled beneath the sheets. Having puffed on her pipe, she wrapped herself around a pillow and drifted to sleep.

  Tomorrow would be her and Evoru’s anniversary: a date she doubted he remembered. Her husband was with his council, anxiously awaiting news of the ambush. After Eryek’s death, his son Ritek had taken control of the Elynaurian army. She thought he was a decent-enough young man, though a tad too much like his father.

  Fryne awoke to the moonlight shining down on her face. Trickles of dust floated around the curtains, blown by a gentle breeze that passed beneath the window. It was a quiet and peaceful night, one that she wished would never cease. She stretched her arms and laid her head closer to Evoru, nestling herself within his grasp, not knowing when he had joined her, but she knew it must’ve been recently. She had just gotten cozy enough to sleep when a yawn forced her eyes open.

  A figure stood beside Evoru with a sword raised above its head.

  “Evoru!” Fryne pushed her husband off the bed. The sword stabbed into the mattress. “Help!”

  “There’s no one here to help you,” said the figure. He bashed Evoru’s face with a boot.

  Fryne backed against the wall. “Somebody help!”

  The figure lifted his sword and struck it into Evoru’s side. He screamed as it pierced his skin and tore apart his muscles, breaking off a part of his ribcage. Fryne could hear the bones snap under the assault.

  The figure walked towards Fryne.

  “Get away,” she shouted. “Get away from me!” She grabbed a book and flung it at the man.

  The view outside her window now had a glowing orange tint. She could hear the cackling of fire and neighing of horses. Panic had spread throughout the streets of Grofven. People were screaming on the floor below. She could hear their cries carry from every direction that her ear had turned to.

  The figure launched himself at Fryne. She jumped away, but the figure slashed and jabbed and reached out to her, twisting her gown and yanking her to him. She was helpless as the steel sliced against her skin. This was the end, she thought, as she felt the figure’s arm raise in preparation to strike.

  Sentry blew the horns outside. She had lost herself somewhere between the cries of the living, the moans of the injured, the gasps of the dead, the booms of the bombardment, the twangs of the longbows, the scratching of the arrows, and the clashing of metal.

  There was no way she could escape the figure’s hold b
efore he struck. As the sword descended upon her, she had no option except to endure the blow; but she wouldn’t give him her life. She jutted her left arm forward and shielded her chest. The sword ripped through tendons and pinned her hand to her stomach.

  The figure’s grip on the hilt had loosened. She used her right hand to bend back a finger of his and push the sword out his hand. As it dropped, it yanked on her stomach. She smashed the figure with her elbow. He pushed her to the ground, and she fell at such an angle that the sword didn’t impale her farther.

  The cries of battle had worsened, and it was clear that one of the armies was being massacred. She refused to lie among them. She refused to die at this very moment.

  She pulled the sword from her stomach. The figure rushed at her and was now on top of her. He used one arm to pin her and the other to wrestle the sword from her grip. She flailed and squirmed and was just able to break free from his might. She pushed the blade into his torso. He scrambled off her.

  She lifted the sword with her right hand; but without her left, she was too weak to swing it. She got onto her knees and bludgeoned him with the handle. Having dropped the sword, she ran to the mirror and threw it onto him. Shards of glass flew around him. She kicked and stomped on the man till he had gone limp.

  She winced and shuddered as she placed both hands upon the sword. “Die, you bastard!” She swung it into the figure’s chest, and he was dead.

  Evoru was motionless on the carpet. She placed her hand upon his neck and felt the blood pulsating through his body. “It’ll be fine,” she whispered. She tried to pull him across the floor, but she couldn’t. He moaned with every tug on his body. “I’ll come back for you.”

  She flung the door open and ran into the corridor. It was dark and empty in both directions. She called out for somebody to save him. “Can anybody hear me?” Her voice shrieked as she tested the upper limits of her vocal chords.

  Another figure was moving down the hall towards her. “Who are you?” she asked.

  The figure kept moving towards her. “Kron,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

  “Evoru’s been stabbed. He’s not moving.”

  Kron followed her into the room. “Are you sure he’s alive?”

  “Listen!”

  Evoru was wheezing through the hole in his lungs. Kron picked him up and nearly flung him over his shoulder. “Follow me.”

  “Be gentle.”

  They stepped through the corridor as Kron struggled to carry the weight. The screams surrounded them; she kept glancing around as if every door gave way to another tragedy.

  “What’s happening?” she asked. “Who was that man?”

  “We were waiting for signs of the attack.” He was breathing deeply. “We saw fire in the distance. We cheered. The ambush had worked. A few hours later the ships came back. The fire had burned out. We couldn’t understand how the fire just stopped. But we didn’t think too much of it.”

  They turned down a staircase to the third floor. Servants were scattering throughout the halls. Sentry continued to talk with the dreadful, baritone voices of their war-horns.

  “The ships docked.” Kron was on the verge of keeling over. “Ritek’s was supposed to stay back and observe the assault—so we were anticipating his return. The other two ships were a surprise. The ambush had gone better than expected.”

  Cannonades were destroying a section of the city. The earth trembled beneath their feet.

  “Just tell me what happened,” she said.

  “They turned our ruse back on us,” he said. “We welcomed them right into our port.”

  “How can so few men take our city?”

  “Their main force is attacking from every side. The men we let into our ports destroyed the barricades. They sabotaged our artillery.”

  The second floor was rife with confusion. Everyone was scrambling to make sense of the panic. Those unfortunate enough to be modest were trampled and pushed to the wayside. There was no more metal clashing against metal or screeching of arrows outside the palace. One side of the battle had won. What had ensued was a slaughter, and she prayed that it wasn’t of her own.

  Fryne plucked a knife off the ground.

  They entered onto the first floor and pushed through to the courtyard. This level was empty except for a few men passing through from the second floor. Kron and Fryne made their way to the courtyard’s gate. The pulleys had been locked in place, but the ropes that held it open were starting to tear.

  “We need to take the backstreets east of here,” said Kron. “Can you guide us?”

  “Yes.” At their pace it would be a two-hour walk. “I know the safest way outta here,” she said, mumbling at the second half of the sentence, noticing a lump in the middle of the courtyard, which, upon further inspection, she recognized as the corpse of Evoru’s companion; “Orwelo,” she believed his name was.

  Metal boots stomped behind them.

  “Vyktaur!”

  Fryne turned to see the man who had spoken. Ritek was looking back at her, almost sheepishly. Ten Elynaurian soldiers accompanied him. “I’ve come for Evoru.”

  “You will be getting no such thing.” Kron brushed up against Fryne. “Let’s go.”

  “We won’t be able to make it.” She and Kron moved as quickly as they could towards the gate. Kron was exerting himself too far, his mind and muscle in conflict as he strived to escape. Ritek and his men were in pursuit. The duo had a lead, but there was no way they could maintain it for much longer.

  She and Kron would’ve reached the gate in unison, but she had halted in a flash of impetuosity.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted. “Hurry up!”

  “Tell him that I’ve never stopped loving him.” She pulled herself up on the wall and severed the ropes. The gate came crashing down.

  “Fryne!” Kron slammed his hand against the metal bars. “What are you doing? We could’ve made it.”

  “No we couldn’t have.” She reached her hands through the gate and rubbed her husband’s hand goodbye. “Take care of him.”

  Kron stared at her blankly before hurrying out of sight.

  “You’re just delaying the inevitable, sweetheart.” Ritek stood behind her. His voice seemed to shake, but maybe it was just her imagination. “There’s no way your precious little husband is going to make it outside the city.”

  “Just be done with it,” she said. “I have no interest in hearing you prate.”

  “Desoru, leave us be.” Ritek waved his men away.

  “But, my lord—” said a man of gigantic height and width.

  “I wish to speak with her alone.”

  Desoru bowed his head, and the Elynaurian nectors obeyed their command. They glanced back at her as they meandered into the palace. Only Fryne and Ritek remained in the courtyard.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Why are you sorry?” Fryne moved the knife to her side. “If you think we murdered your father, then why are you apologetic?”

  “I’m not the simpleminded fool you take me for. This has nothing to do with my father.” He glanced behind himself, as if searching the courtyard for anybody that might overhear. “My brother approached me. Don’t you see? The night is upon us. Vehymen as we know it is dead.”

  “Because of people like you.”

  “So, I took their offer,” he said, ignoring her words. “I’m not going to give my life for a worthless cause.”

  “How can you support our enemies? They’re using you. You’re nothing to them—a tool.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I’m not my brother.” He stared intently into her eyes; when he spoke henceforth, she could hear his turmoil. “Remolin joined the congregation and preaches their doctrine because he believes in it. He thinks he found his salvation. I’m just doing what I need to survive.”

  “And I’m not?” She was now pleading with him, thinking she had discovered a way to be spared. “I didn’t start this war. I didn’t lead an army—I didn’t fight in
the battle.”

  “I’m sorry…. But there is no turning back.”

  “Please, just listen to me! Move by will alone. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do.” He swatted the knife from her hand. “If I soften now, they’ll kill both of us.”

  “We can escape. We can—”

  Ritek shoved his sword deep into her stomach. “Forgive me.” He pulled it back, and she collapsed to the ground.

  “Please.”

  9

  Ritek Elynaur

  Elynaurian Chief

  He pulled the rapier from Fryne’s stomach. She gasped, her right arm twitching and flopping against her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  The hanging gardens of Grofven had been set ablaze. The flames consumed everything in their paths, roaring as they spread throughout the city, spreading into apartments and eateries, reducing their structures to ash and piling soot at the bottom of the cistern, glowing yellow as they neared the palace’s fortifications. Cinders fell from support-beams and landed on the populace below.

  A woman struck the gate and reached her arm through the bars, calling out to Ritek for safety, and he answered her hail with a turn of his head. After a moment of deliberation, she scurried away. The warmth that had accompanied her was now sweltering heat. Ritek tried to shield his mouth as smoke blew into the courtyard, and he coughed as he inhaled the fumes.

  He didn’t care as he watched the city burn; there were no ties for him to sever here. Guilt was no distant emotion for his betrayal of the clans, but the common folk were nothing to him; he thought of them as pawns and tools to be used at the whims of the elite. Their moans and screams got louder as if part of a crescendo, but within minutes the flames had suppressed them.

  “Desoru,” he shouted, and his men came clanking into the courtyard. “Take after the magistrate.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Desoru had a lazy but intimidating way of speaking. “I’ve already sent some men headhunting. I’ve got a messenger in route to the causeways. They won’t be escaping.”