Chapter VII
. This Hammer Falls .
- Sixth Age, year 1014
“Get that ballista firing!” He screamed, vigorously motioning to the men and swearing as he went. “Come on!”
It was Dromarg’s prison on the wall, with men running back and forth, and only a part of them effectively filling their duties. Enough to make him spit poison.
Only a few paces down, large chunks of earth and stone impacted into the base of the high, and seemingly impenetrable barricade, sprouting flames which were fanned by the crisp wind. No army had ever managed to scale its height, and none ever would.
But then, this was no force of Adonai or Targ or any other sort of beast such as them. The monstrosities which now marched against Hammer Fell were of a much different type.
“Get down!” Some screamed as hurtling masses of blazing material soared through the sky, this time dangerously close to clearing the wall and breaking into the undefended town behind. Most had been evacuated, but that would say nothing of the men, and of all that their hard work represented.
But for fifteen years he had defended this citadel, and for fifteen years he had held any foe they faced at bay. The Fourth Division wasn’t about to let that change.
“Eirrmond!” He scaled a few flights of stairs and ducked behind an escarpment. “I need my report.”
The man that came to meet him was a beast of a human, thick fleshed and heavy boned, he looked as animal as the monsters that they had faced recently out there on the edge to protect the kingdom and all its people.
“Commander!”
“General Stykes, apologies fo-“
“Just shut your face and report! We’re at war here, man!”
Eirrmond growled, but moved on. “We’ve lost three more, sir, and several others injured.”
More casualties to add to the list. It was not that they hadn’t been warned, anyone could have seen it coming from miles away. Perhaps heard is a more accurate term. But there simply seemed no way of stopping these giants.
“And what have you got for me?”
“The bolts stick, but they don’t seem to have any effect. Our trebuchets are primed for use, but they’re still working on the calibrations.”
Stykes was not happy to hear the news. “They should have been running the better part of an hour ago….” What were they going to do? Every moment meant another step or two closing the gap between them and complete chaos.
If they made it to the wall…no telling what could happen.
He had never seen a thing of this sort, only remembering back to stories told around the fire about the great beasts that inhabited the northernmost regions. About monsters that could breath fire and raise entire cities to the ground in a single night.
Perhaps these two were not quite that intense, but they had defied their preliminary defenses, and so far the threat was unabated and rising.
Like two mountains, they marched on heavy feet, gaining ground fast. Their thick and black skin, etched with streams of flowing fire, defended easily against their ballistae. One had even tried ripping the long bolt from its side and using it as a weapon, crushing two men after hurling the ammunition like it was a child’s toy.
He swore, then swore again and more vehemently than the first time. “You get those trebuchets working, or it’ll be the end of us!”
“Aye, sir!” Eirrmond responded, storming off to yell at his men and put things back in an acceptable order.
More rocks clashed against the stones laid hundreds of years before, shocking each man to the core. This place had been a stronghold for as long as the kingdom had been alive, and would probably continue to stand for ages to come.
No army would ever breech into its heart.
Stykes glanced out to the beasts, now closing fast.
But perhaps, there was this one chance….
There was a sudden surge of voices, cheering into the morning air as a particularly well aimed shot met its mark, exploding in a mesh of dark blood and flesh that broke apart, as if it were hardened clay.
The beast stumbled, its form tripping through the air and landing on one knee.
Ground rumbling beneath it.
A cavity had been opened into its chest, revealing organs, at least, that’s what they appeared to be. Beating and twisting in life as that same force drained from the monstrosity of a creature. Heavy bolts began pounding into it, ripping through its vulnerable mortality.
Corrupted by the plague.
Summoned by the darkness.
But it was still privy to death, and death was only a few moments away. The men began working with a renewed vigor, slamming ammunition into the siege weapons and doing their best to bring the same fate to the dying beast’s companion.
Three more were lost as stone clashed with stone, grinding to dust.
But then, it was over. Having sought out its weakness and capitalizing on the opportunity, it was soon barraged with a hail of fire and flame and all that comes with it, and it crumbled fast. Victory was theirs, bringing a sweet sigh of relief to Stykes’ lips.
They’d only lost seven men, a miracle in its own right. Things could have turned out a lot worse, but it seemed that the gods favored them.
Stykes uttered a silent prayer to Lydria.
“Commander!”
Oh, what is it now? He shook his head, but turned to meet the man who had called out, straddled on a Kyrist, clicking its sharpened hooves on the stone floor.
Wasting no time, he slipped from the saddle and removed his helm, proffering the usual show of respect by flashing the sign of the Harn, the left arm rising to meet his shoulder, for strength and valor.
The right gripping his own forearm, a show of balance and control.
But the pleasantries of culture were lost on the both of them. He was from the southern wastes, and hard as the stone they lived off. The other, wearing freshly shined and adorned armor that only the King’s Guard were privileged to wear, was above such things, though his rank descended beneath that of the commander’s.
“What news have you?”
“Commander, a scout reported a number of Orr Tav, marching this way.”
“How many?”
He had not said, but then, it was hardly a matter of numbers. The messenger had appeared very shocked, that look of fear on his face. No, they didn’t need to know how many, only how soon.
“Enough to scare off an entire regiment. They pulled back to the third ring.”
“Tribiss! Do we not have our defenses for a reason?” Stykes fired, eying the man squarely and hard. Challenging his authority.
“I hardly had a say in the matter. But if it was a large enough issue that they had to relocate to a stronger point of defense, then it’s something we should be worried about.”
The commander’s teeth ground together and his eyes seemed to flare out a bit. “Targ dung! Does this madness never end?” Rhetorical, perhaps, but the man before him felt it in need of a reply. Lonely, standing out there on its own, without a friend, so he matched it.
“I suppose that’s what the men at Arch Hide were thinking, you know, when the orders came.” He smiled, with venom.
The bite stung, slipping more poison into Stykes’ veins. Not that he didn’t have enough already. But he wasn’t about to take such a thing from someone of lower ranking. Stepping to the man, he put his face right up next to him.
“I don’t want to hear another word about the incident. We’re at war, man! Do you even know what that means? Men die! They’re mortal! And I don’t want some city boy to come riding in on his high saddle and tell me how to win it.”
Some of the men laughed at the apparent fright that came over the younger man. A bit of spittle had spattered on his face, which he flicked away with his finger, then regained his composure.
“Mind yourself, commander. The King might have some choice words if he were to hear about this.”
Stykes spat.
“Let him hear. He’d p
robably say the same thing I did and move on.” He looked around him, at all those that had come from their country and home, to fight for the realm, to defend what they knew as home and family and life. Most weren’t soldiers. Most had never seen what it was like to stare the enemy down, to duck beneath the blade and feel yours sink to the hilt.
Most had never seen death.
Or blood.
“No,” Stykes continued, feeling the rage reside in him for a bit longer. “You get back on your pretty little pet and ride yourself to Break Point, and command the forward guard like you were told.”
Hesitation.
Perhaps a few silent words uttered.
“Sir!” He came to attention, then spun on his heel, mounting with a kick of his right leg and clumped off without much more. Stykes was glad to be rid of him. He understood the King’s desire to have trusted men in every corner of the realm, to bind the kingdom and its people, but sending children who knew nothing more than books and drawing boards was a mistake.
This was his post, and he would guard it the way that he wanted.
And nothing would get past.
. Draanus Vinder .
- Sixth Age, year 1014
“Get your hands off that!”
Child yelled and woman screamed as she frantically slapped at him, ripping away the tired and age wrinkled loaf of bread that she had on display. It wasn’t much, but it was food.
Lyrus watched from the corner, realizing that this wasn’t going to be easy. The streets were covered in various stages of starving people, some more desperate than others. Everyone was on guard. Tension, static in the air. And he knew that if he were to try anything, it would all come crumbling down. Not because he wasn’t crafty enough to get it, but because he wanted it more than the previous boy to attempt it.
Three armed guards walked past, chatting about something that had happened by the gates that morning.
This was what scared him.
Sansa was still hidden, outside the city, and if he got caught….
There was no time to waste thinking about what might happen, only to act.
His breath came fast and short, fingers twitching, ready to flash like lightning. This would be their saving grace….
“Lyrus. Oh Lyrus, what are you doing?”
He spun around, nearly choking on his own breath as he came to meet the face of his mother. So pale and forlorn, but with a partial smile.
“Mother? But I….”
“Shhh.” She placed finger to his lips. “I raised a smart boy, but you’ve already forgotten the gift I sewed into your coat.”
Confused, but then remembering how she had asked to borrow it, and later returned it, this time with the stitching a bit more visible and a hard disc nestled in between the layers. Lyrus looked down, feeling it between his fingers.
“Mother! You-“
She was gone, vanished into the stale air.
He sighed. Of course she was gone. He’d watched her go the first time, and he’d watch her go again.
But this time she’d saved them a good deal of strife.
Strolling from the alley, he walked up to the woman, who eyed him very angrily and waved a hand at him like it was a dead fish.
“Go on you street vermin! I don’t want any of your like here. Nothing for free today.”
“I can pay.” Lyrus stated, proffering the coin to her. “How much will this buy?” The woman’s eyes seemed to triple in size, peering from the thick shawl that she wore over her head like a bonnet.
One gold kief.
A small fortune for any man. But for her….
“Four loaves.”
She nodded, to let him know that it was her only offer.
Four loaves? That would hardly feed us for two days. He looked up at her, his hand withdrawing a pit and fingers playing at the coin. “But, that’s so little.”
“Times are hard. It’s what you get.”
He couldn’t believe that it was really worth that much. Lyrus knew times were hard, but it didn’t seem to be that terrible. His mind wandered back to Mr Quinterey, though, and things started to fall into place. Men would kill for even a taste of food, so perhaps she wasn’t lying. It still felt awfully outrageous, though.
“Now be a good boy, give me the money and you can take your pick.”
He looked at the stock of dry and hard food, not very appealing, but it would keep their stomachs silent. His hand opened a little, and she reached for it slowly. Licking her lips a bit.
Then suddenly there was a man there, standing next to him and cupping his hand back into its grip of the precious bounty.
“Zira! You should be ashamed, stealing from a boy.”
Her eyes went to the man, then quickly shot to the ground. “Stay out of this.” She grumbled, kicking at the dirt. “You would have done the same.”
He pushed Lyrus back just a bit, so he could get a better grounding in front of the woman, and pointed a chastising finger at her, waving it up and down. “You know very well that I wouldn’t, you old cheat. Things are hard enough for everyone, even without you trying to bleed everyone dry.”
“And who are you to say I’m not charging a fair price?” Came her challenge, lips and eyes curling into a sneer.
Placing hands on the edge of the stall and leaning way over to stare her down, he shot back, “Zira, don’t tempt me.” Each syllable an emphatic statement.
And she knew better than to push it farther, mouth clamping tight.
“That’s what I thought.” Spinning around, he knelt to be at Lyrus’s level. “Young man,” he said, “you’ll have to learn this lesson fast; never trust a woman when there’s gold involved.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, but Lyrus didn’t say a word.
“I’ve never seen you before. Who are you traveling with?”
“With….” He looked at the man, and thought of his actions of just a moment before. “With my mother and father.”
He snorted some air from his nose, wiggling the ends of his thin mustache. “And you’re leading me to believe that during the darkest times these parts have ever witnessed, they’re sending their young boy with enough gold to buy his way to the western isles to buy bread, in a city filled with thieves and vagabonds?”
Lyrus threw him a sheepish look, but couldn’t help the guilty appearance from coming over him.
“No, I don’t believe that. It’s not really any of my business, but…I get the feeling it would be good if you tell me the truth.” His eyes shone a bright blue, a color the sky hadn’t shown in such a long time, and they confirmed what his voice spoke, “My name is Dranuus Vinder. I’m this forsaken city’s unelected warden. You can trust me, for what it’s worth.”
And he believed him.
. Stones that Break Bones .
- Sixth Age, year 1014
“I’m sorry to hear that. Truly, I am. I know what a loss like that means.”
Lyrus slipped his hand back into the pocket, feeling the cold touch of the coin, still there, still safe. It meant a lot more to him now that Dranuus had kindly informed him of its true value. He’d made it explicitly known that it should never be shown in public again.
“Most men would kill just about anyone to get something like that.” He’d warned. “Even for much less.”
“Why did you help me?” Lyrus asked in a confronting way.
“Well, that’s what any good man would have done, isn’t it?” Lyrus’ silence didn’t have him convinced. “Alright then. I’m a hard man, but there’s this soft place, and when I see someone being taken advantage of, I get real angry. That’s not the first time she’s done that, mind you.”
“Thanks, then.”
They had left the city gates and were now traveling off the beaten path, to where, Dranuus couldn’t tell, and Lyrus hadn’t said anything further, only that they were going to find his younger brother.
“You know, you’re not like other boys your age. How old did you say you were, again?”
“What do you mean?”
“Most would have stolen the bread, whether they had money or not. But you offered to pay, like an honest man.” His pace quickened and he turned to walk backwards, staring down at Lyrus. “By Yvre’s ear, what are you doing in these parts?”
“We walked.”
“Yes, but from where? And what’s your destination?”
Lyrus began to recognize specific landmarks around him. That rock that looked like an old man’s nose. A clump of bushes with a patch missing right at the top. They were almost there.
“We’re going to find my father.” He answered, retracing his steps to the town in his mind.
“And where is your father.”
Ducking into the small grove of trees that they had arrived at, Lyrus pushed past the brambles and branches, only to find an empty clearing they had made, but no sign of his brother to be found.
“What? He was here, I know it, I told him to stay here and wait until I returned.”
“Your brother?” Dranuus grunted, slapping a stick or two out of his face. “Well, he’s not here anymore. You said he was six?”
Lyrus began to worry and his heart pounded into his throat.
“I didn’t think he would leave. We have to find him, he could be anywhere.”
Dranuus pointed to the ground, facing south. “There, his tracks go off that way.” And sure enough he could see the form of his footprints in the dirt, hardly visible. Lyrus would never have seen them, were he by himself.
“He went off this way.”
Lyrus followed Dranuus’ lead, walking down past the patch of thick trees and over a small, dry stream. And suddenly, he saw it.
“Sansa! Sansa!” Shooting off like an arrow, he pumped his arms, running for the form that lay off in the distance a bit.
“No, don’t run!” He reached for the boy, but Lyrus had gotten off too fast, so Dranuus drew his sword and followed behind him, looking about for any signs of danger.
Sansa was there, lying on his side in the dirt, an arm laid under him, his legs pulled tight, as if in pain. Lyrus was now holding him in his arms, yelling something that didn’t quite come out coherent. When his hands came away, there was blood staining into them.
“Sansa! Why did you leave. I told you to stay, there, and I would…come back for you….”
His head hung down, unsupported and sliced at the base. A quick death, but not a pretty one, unless you consider the dye that fresh blood makes to be beautiful.
There are some.
Whatever the case, Sansa, was dead. No one could deny that fact. Overcome, Lyrus found himself beyond emotion. No tears, no anger, not even a sadness to take control of him. He only felt alone, abandoned by everything, so much that he was not even given the privilege of being distraught.
There was only a quiet. Dranuus’ hand at his shoulder, kneeling down beside him and coaxing him away.
He was so hot.
Sweat dripped from his brow and onto Sansa’s tunic, staining it an even deeper shade of purple.
His eyes became heavy, and the sun seemed to be covering its face.
Had you walked by that day, you would have seen a man gathering stones. A few moments later he left the elongated pile of rocks, carrying a boy in his arms.
. Brathak .
- Sixth Age, year 1014
Eyes, blank, and black.
He’d seen it before, so many times, but not quite like this.
“Commander?”
Stykes was listening, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Coming back to the world, he looked at his officer, then to the left at the chained-up man, if he could be called a man any longer. The plague had done its job, and now they were witnessing the full effect of its poisoning character.
He was like a tomb, rigid and straight on the exterior.
And full of dried bones and decay on the inside.
There was nothing left to be done. It was over, for him, at least.
“Commander? What do you want us to do?”
“You know what has to be done. We’ve been-.”
The man interrupted, rudely, but not for the wrong reasons. “But sir, we can’t just-.”
“I know you don’t want to do it, soldier!” Stykes cried, his emotions getting the better of him. “You don’t think I hate it as much as the rest? Farshta! He was a good man, and a legend of a soldier.” There was nothing in there anymore, though. Just a darkness, after the soul gave in and let go. He was going to die anyways, because he never would succumb to the temptation. “But there will be casualties at war, and we can’t risk the safety of the men, including yourself. Now get it over with, before you force me to do it myself.”
Stykes bent to pick up the soldier’s hand, already gripping at the broadsword’s hilt, and set it firmly in his other palm. “Our lives depend on the loyalty of every man, every soldier. When you swore fealty to the king, you swore fealty to me that you would do this one thing.”
The soldier said nothing, swallowing hard, but he didn’t need to speak.
He knew what must be done.
Stykes walked out of the hall to the sound of ghastly cries, the metallic sound of a blade making its feast and the screams of silence that boast such a noise.
Outside, though, it was a much different atmosphere that had overtaken the wall.
“…cowards, to fall in the face of our enemy and grovel for mercy? They will offer none, so give none in return!”
“And are we to believe that this cause is for us alone? Never! I would have you remember who you fight for! And why we came….”
It brought satisfaction to his heart, to see such leaders becoming of his men. The few trusted individuals at his side were rousing the men to a vibrant energy that pulsed along the edge of the wall.
Thirteen rushes had come, and thirteen crashed against the citadel like waves against the rocks, spraying blood and death, but retreating with the tide. And they would do the same, again and again, until the end of time.
But then…he had doubts.
Sir Braxis, from the King’s Guard, had pulled his regiment from the defenses, leaving a few smaller groups to serve as a distraction while the main force retreated back to Hammer Fell. There were, he said, simply too great of numbers for them to hold out against, and retreat was their only option. The others were given orders to lead the armies away, if possible, but to circle back to safety as soon as the chance was given them, but most had not returned yet, which could mean only one thing.
Five thousand strong, perhaps six.
It was a force with the strength to sweep through the entire kingdom, killing at will and raising city by city to the ground if they made it through this final line of defense. They had a tough armor, but inside it was as vulnerable as a man’s heart.
One good stab, and it bleeds.
Two, and it perishes with the passing time.
As they drew near, the plague became stronger, sweeping through his division and taking the lives of many. Most, he was grateful to say, were good men with pure hearts, and they died quickly, refusing to give in to the draw of that evil power, though a few had done so.
Stykes had never seen so much violence. Man turned beast became an ugly thing.
But it would end here, in one way or another. Within in the hour they would be upon them, breaking against the wall. Who would die first?
He sighed, looked at his men, swore, then exhaled again.
Certain that every single one of them would rather turn and run for the capitol, and greater numbers, Stykes pitied them. There was his duty to perform, though, and that was something he couldn’t forget, so he gathered his wits about him, and began pumping the air with his energy and rallying them to his call.
“Who are we?” He cried aloud, inviting them to remember why they had come. He gripped a man’s shield, pulling him close and staring into the depths of his soul, reaching for whatever courage and bravery might be there and ripping it to the surface. “Who are we!”
/> “The Fourth Division!” The man yelled back, chest heaving in and out.
“Who are we?” He asked again, this time in a quiet tone of voice, seeking for something more.
The soldier thought hard, his mind running, trying to guess what he might want to hear. But nothing came. A bit dissatisfied, Stykes drew back a little, but kept the man’s gaze.
“Nures-dra, brathak tain.”
He seemed confused, and the rest couldn’t hear very well, so Stykes took to a more drastic approach. Leaping up on the ramparts, he ripped a flag from its post, holding it up for the world to see.
The split horns challenging against the tattered weave.
“Nures-dra, brathak tain!” He screamed as loud as his body would allow, reaching some, who began to raise their voices. “Who are we? What did we come for?” Looking out at the ragged group of soldiers, he saw only those that had managed to survive the onslaught of the enemies force and power. So many of them weren’t fit to be here, but at times like these, there simply was no other choice.
It was stand, or die. And although many here were cowards in the face of the future, they would still fight to the last, if need be.
“Death is our victor and blood our reward!” Stykes continued, feeling a surge of energy flowing from man to man. Albeit small, but it was there, almost tangible. He had this way of smelling fear, and the rancid stink began to leave their bodies as neighbor and friend, brother and son rallied together. “And our bodies shall be laid in the tombs of the ancients, to rest in the halls of our forefathers!”
This too was a dream of every man. To be buried by their kin, to rest for an eternity next to those that they had loved. Who would not want that?
“They will sing our names for ages to come!”
True immortality was born in a bard’s song.
“And we cannot fall!”
He stated that last one, loud and clear, pounding out each syllable as if it were the beating of a drum calling for war, igniting the hearts of those he served.
“Nures-dra....” Some started.
Then, with a pleasing and powerful rush, the rest caught on, mustering beneath the banner and clashing sword to shield.
“Brathak tain!”
And for that one moment in time, inseparable from the rest, and short, but still as real, they lived up to that name.
They had become it.
And they were immovable.
. Harn .
- Sixth Age, year 1014
Fire had burned low in the stone hearth, casting its faint light into the room and dancing against their faces.
Child lay on the floor.
Man, in the chair.
And a woman was busying herself, clearing the remnants of their dinner from a table.
“You said he’s from the eastern plains?”
Dranuus nodded slowly, sipping at a cup of light ale and watching the boy curiously. “Yes, I did.”
“Well, that’s so far. How do you reckon he came to be all the way out here?”
“He said he was searching for someone. He’s smart, I’ll give that to him, and I believe he knew that they would never survive out there.” Thinking back to the events of the previous day, he chuckled. “But I don’t think he figured that there’s more than just Targs and angry men that can bite.”
“And his family? They didn’t come with him?”
Silence bordered the room. What was he supposed to say to that? So he proffered the only answer that he could bring himself to give, “No, but that’s who he’s looking for. His father, he said, is somewhere out here in the west.”
“Well, it was good of you to do such a thing.” Wiping her hands on the towel draped over her apron, she came up behind him, placing a kiss on his cheek and sitting on the arm of the chair. “I married a good man.”
“Yes, and I married a beautiful woman.”
Now she laughed. “I would hope so, for both our sakes.”
“We’re very fortunate, you know, to have all this at such a time.”
Many would kill to stay one night in a place such as their home, built atop the crest of the hills, just outside of the town. A self-made wealthy man, Dranuus hadn’t always had the means to provide. His family entered the world poor and lacking of all comforts, and that hadn’t simply changed with age.
Being apprenticed to Hyrinn Tael the trader had, though.
Yes, they were very fortunate.
“Is it fortune, or preparation and sacrifice that built all of this?” His wife asked, smiling down at him as she rested a hand on his leg.
Nearly twenty others had made this their home, by invitation. Mostly those families that simply couldn’t find the means to put food on the table. The noises of their late conversations could be heard through the house and down its halls, telling the saga of suffering and of this war, and also some relief that could come when men banded together, and fought together.
“I just hope that our stores of grain will keep us through. Everything depends on that.”
“And if not?”
He looked into the fire and watched flame shifting its form as it feasted on the dry wood. This was how their town would look, if the time came that they couldn’t hold out any longer. Already issues had arisen as some men, usually those without family, took to dishonest means of acquiring food, and other items of general need.
Keeping them locked up was required of the town guard, but feeding them while they wasted away their time in a cold cell?
Some things would need to change.
“One thing’s for certain, though, I don-.”
She put a finger to his lips, then pointed at the boy who’s eyes were now flashing open. He made no move to rise, but simply lay still.
“You look tired, son.”
“I’m not tired.” He retorted, quickly rising to his feet and wiping the dust from his pants.
“I see that.” Dranuus extended his hand and offered the mug to Lyrus. “Go on, this will wake you right up.” But his arm was slapped away by his wife.
“Don’t give that to him.” Her face showed some shock, but she was also laughing, surprised that he would do such a thing. “He’s too young for strong drink.”
“He’s older than I was when I started to enjoy a bit of ale and beer, on occasion.” Came Dranuus’ rebuttal, but he lost the fight because he withdrew his hand, winking at Lyrus. “And he has a name.”
“Oh, where are my manners.” She flustered to her feet and gave a short curtsy, offering her own name, then asking his. “I’m Tainya Trottent, but you can call me Mod, at least, that’s how most would refer to me. And you are?”
“My name is Lyrus, son of Lyrathair.”
“Lyrathair….” She returned to her previous seat and motioned for him to find a chair. “It’s a good name. Your father must be a good man, to raise a son like yourself. He must be proud.”
Lyrus said nothing, as what was on his mind didn’t seem to be worth placing before these two strangers. Sensing his desire to avoid the subject, Tainya Trottent continued on with the question she had been thinking on. “You’re looking for him, aren’t you?”
Lyrus nodded in the affirmative.
“And where, did you say, they might be?” Dranuus asked, becoming curious again. He had brought up the same topic earlier, but they were interrupted when the boy’s brother wasn’t to be found.
“My father,” Lyrus began, the past flooding back into his mind. He suddenly remembered each day as if it was a lifetime, pouring over the images of his memory. “He left in the spring, to fight for the Harn.”
“And where was he stationed?” Dranuus prodded a little farther.
“My mother said that he was with the fourth division, at least, that’s what I remember her saying.”
Husband and wife looked at one another, hiding the dismay from their features, but doing nothing to mask the sinking that dropped into their stomachs.
“Are you sure about that? There are a lot of places that your fa
ther could have been sent.”
“We received a letter from him, once. My mother read it to us, and he said that he and my brother were in Hammer Fell, working as blacksmiths.”
Dranuus’ eyes grew a bit wider. “Your brother was with him, too?”
“Yes, he was old enough, so they took him as well.”
Embers and sparks seemed to fill the room, shifting on the walls and ceiling as Dranuus moved to kneel down in front of Lyrus. Then, saying his name aloud, he voiced the very thing that had followed the boy though his nightmarish dreams, “Whatever anyone tells you, or you make yourself to believe, your father, and your brother…they died as heroes.”
. an excerpt from the book of draal: Chapter I .
When the worlds still had not been created and all that existed in our universe was unformed stone and matter, there came into existence a family of sentient beings. In what time or place they were conceived is beyond us to know, but one thing was for certain; they were gods in every right and privilege. Their purpose was to bring to an end the rise of a fallen brother who had taken upon himself to liberate the expanse of space, by locking it all away, safe from sight and sound.
This was his goal, to save the universe from itself by taking what can only be gained through knowledge and experience and life.
The light would illuminate any and all intelligent minds.
The warmth would let them believe that all was well, for a time, and therefore could go on to dreaming of grander things.
These, too, were to be stolen away and kept secret, as there was no room for problems to arise in this grand scheme. His was a plan of perfection, in which no wrong would ever happen. He simply would not allow it, and he vowed to build the Universe on these foundations.
But the others did not think it so wise. Though each had their own opinions on how the planets and stars should be formed, all agreed that taking away the natural element and replacing it with some form of required existence was not a correct path. They wanted freedom, and agency to be had amongst the universe’s species, a complete ability to choose for themselves whether to live or to die. Only then would there be purpose.
Vaalen Ishtrid began to set in motion the creation of the universe before it was time, and as such committed an act of treason and rebellion against the council of the gods.
In open opposition to their decision, Vaalen Ishtrid left the halls in the heavens to seek a more gullible audience. Finding his way to the Titan Mists, the fallen god roused those that would rally under his name and began to amass a small army in attempt at regaining his control.
. Red Again .
- Seventh Age, year 718
Life.
He contemplated on how good it had been to them for so many years now. He didn’t really have much to complain about, and for that he thanked the Fates.
Eorria stood across from him, silent, but speaking strings of words with her eyes. It took him back to the day that they’d been married, now over twenty years past. He didn’t know whether to count it a victory, or to simply put it at luck and leave it there.
But no, they’d worked hard. Very hard.
“Father? May I have a piece of toffee?” Their boy asked, interrupting into his thoughts, but not unwelcome. He started to answer in the affirmative, but then quickly looked up at the boy’s mother, to be sure she didn’t have other, choice opinions about the situation.
Pursed lips and a hand on her hip told the whole story.
“Well now,” she began, “I suppose you can, but there’s one small little matter we have to clear up first….” The boy glanced up at his father’s big face, who stared down and brought his mouth into a circular shape. “Jaerus wasn’t a very good student at school today, at least, that’s what another certain boy’s mother told me.”
“Uh oh. What’s this she says?”
Not wanting to own up to his folly, the child sheepishly looked away, but a few moments of silence coaxed an answer from his lips.
“It wasn’t my fault. Lypa was poking me with his foot and I couldn’t tell him to stop because the teacher was looking right at me the whole time.”
“So, you didn’t do anything?”
“Well, other than yell when he poked too hard….”
Father laughed while his mother shook her head and moved to start chopping vegetables for their evening meal. Outside the shadows stretched their limbs and the sun was dipping into the earth, seeking refuge from the light. Sometimes even it had to rest a little.
Venistarre’s scraggly beard shivered a bit as he chuckled lightly, mostly in response to his wife’s reaction. She was always like that, always worrying, but truth be told, Jaerus was probably right in what he said, and there was nothing that would lead him to believe any differently.
This was how life had been so good to him.
A beautiful wife.
A perfect son.
And, with spring now in full bloom, the missing part to their family would be coming home soon, at least, so they expected. Canthon had always been her home, despite the need to find shelter elsewhere. But she would always come back.
“Disobedience is never a good thing, mind you….” he began, looking at his son, then back to his wife, “but sometimes it’s just not our fault, and there’s nothing to be ashamed about there. Did you tell the teacher?”
Jaerus nodded. “Yes, I tried, but she didn’t listen.”
“Hmm, do you remember when you were helping your mother cook supper, and accidentally dropped the bowl of soup?”
Yes, how could he forget?
“Sometimes adults make mistakes too, it’s a part of life. The best thing to do is to not worry about it, and let things go.”
Jaerus let his mind mull over his father’s words for a bit before latching onto another bit of information. “But how can I forget when I have to scratch the royal creed ten times? It will take me forever….”
Ahh, now there was a true problem.
One that threatened to tip the scales of balance itself.
His father thought hard of what answer to give, the finally, after some time, proffered his thoughts, “Well, let me ask this; was it your fault?” The boy, confused, but honest, shook his head. “And is it Lypa’s fault?” A bouncing of the head up and down. “Then who should really receive the punishment?”
“Lypa?”
“Yes, of course him.” Venistarre leaned over to look into his son’s eyes, captivating the audience like a performance at the grand amphitheater in Arribinthia. “Sometimes we’re called on to take another’s punishments, even if they don’t know it. It’s a gift, given to us by our Creator, because it means that we can finally understand what it must be like to be them. Does that make sense?”
Did it? Turning it over and over, Jaerus finally came to the conclusion that he did understand, and said as much. His mother, however, was not so convinced.
“Venistarre, dear, please don’t try to confuse the boy.”
“Confuse? I’m not confused, are you?” The boy shook his head. No, he seemed to understand very well. “See, just as I thought. My dear, you’ve managed to raise a natural gen-.” His words were severed off abruptly as his lips shut tight, head leaning to the side and straining, as if searching for a sound.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. I thought I heard….” He had risen and walked to the door, pushing it open into the dark of night and resting still while the vision slowly crept out farther. The town was just to the south, not far in the distance but a short way from their own home. All was still and quiet for sometime, but his eyes seemed to latch onto a certain point on the horizon.
A place where there was a bit of red light, the sun leaving behind its last few traces of matter.
Only, the sun did not set in that direction.
“Fire!” Venistarre cried, running for his coat. “There’s a fire in town.”
. As if .
- Seventh Age, year 718
“Let me make on
e thing clear,” she shifted on the bed, moving to a more comfortable position and glaring over at Aviin, who sat on the floor across from her, “whatever you saw in those…visions, it was all just a dream. Something that your mind conjured up.”
“Yes, of course, how could it be anything else….”
But he wasn’t so sure about that.
They’d talked for some time, about everything that had happened recently. Mostly he asked questions and she gave only partial answers, not really wanting to delve too deep into the extent of her life. For him, though, everything was so shallow and fake.
He hadn’t done anything at all, not for the twenty one years that he’d been alive. His father had made sure of that….
There was nothing to tell.
“Even so, I still think that there’s a reason, I mean, things like this don’t just happen.”
“Yes, they do.” She countered. “Not everything in life is meant to be that way, sometimes it just is. Don’t try to blow this out of proportions.”
Aviin was slightly confused at her attitude. Strange, because he had thought that she would be excited and grateful to finally meet him in person, especially after all that he had done for her.
Eyes fell to the floor for a moment, rolling around and collecting dust as they went.
This wasn’t how he’d pictured it.
“Then why? Or maybe a better question; how?” he asked, wanting to know what she was thinking, and from the tightening of her cheeks, he could tell that she was probably asking that same question. Perhaps she knew the answer, but just wasn’t willing to tell….
Then his thoughts strayed to other places, mulling over the situation and searching for any bit that seemed particularly important.
It went back to Corbith Atar, where they had first met, or rather, where he had first seen her, in person. “How did you find yourself being kidnapped in the desert?”
Saville’s eye’s flashed at him, and for the first time he witnessed the fire that lived inside. With a good deal of indignation at her lips, she retorted, “Sometimes things happen, alright?”
“Okay, I wasn’t trying to pry into personal matters, or anything like that.” Perhaps a small lie. “It was just a little…strange to me.”
A fact that she couldn’t exactly argue with.
“What’s going on back there?” She felt the presence at her mind ask, not concerned, only curious.
“Just dealing with this garp of a man, that’s all.”
“He is a little odd, I suppose.” Duraan’s thoughts drew closer, probably on his way back having finally found something to prey upon and fill his stomach with. “But he’s not bad, once you get to know him.”
“And what defines bad….”
There was a slight coughing sound that emanated from Aviin’s corner, as if to draw her attention back. Remembering that he, for some reason, had the ability to listen in on their mental conversations, and even join in, was not the easiest thing for her to process.
It had never happened before. Except for that one time, back before she’d met Duraan. A dark moment in her past, to be sure….
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Aviin asked calmly, but there was a bit of irritation rubbed along the edge of his words.
She eyed him, scanning his features and analyzing his character, or what she could gather about him at least. He’d only mentioned his being a soldier, that is, his previous engagement as one. His story seemed a bit unbelievable, though. To commit the crime of desertion, carry an unconscious woman off into the wilderness being chased by a regiment of imperial soldiers…. It just seemed like some tale that her father used to tell.
“And I should ask the same question.” She shot back at him. Saville stood to draw back the tattered curtain and stare out the window into the streets. Hardly a soul moved out there, as barren as their relationship. That was what had her confused.
Why had he done what he’d done? Even good men she’d met would have cowered away from even the thought of doing something as serious.
“You do realize that they’re going to be looking for you now?” Saville asked, still turned away from him, her breath spattering on the glass, then quickly fleeing as it lost the war against the warm spring air.
He hadn’t thought that far, yet, but it made sense. He’d seen it before, but still wondered to what lengths his father would go.
Perhaps he would just forget about the whole thing?
A doubtful proposal.
Not after what had been said.
“Yes, you made a really great decision back there. Now only every soldier in the empire will be looking for us. Did you calculate that one into your plans?”
Shocked at how much spite she had laced into her comments, Aviin was taken aback for a few moments, not quite believing that she had uttered those words.
He rose to face her, fists clenching, then thrusting open in an attempt to purge the anger from his voice. “Hey, I saved your life. You owe a debt to me.”
“What debt?” She stepped a little closer. “I never asked to be saved, now did I?” Brushing past him, she flipped the cowl of her cloak to cover her head, and her mark of indignation, and slipped from the room, leaving Aviin to fume.
But he didn’t know whether to revel in all his frustration, or to cry.
This was not how things were supposed to go, not at all.