Chapter Four ~ Balance
Riri sighed and watched a chill breeze carry her misty breath away into the star filled night. She sought calm and tried to conceal disdain while surveying the suspicious gathering of peasants surrounding the grain silo her people guarded. When first given the order to guard the silo by Marrinae, Riri questioned its importance. Seeing the anger and hunger and desperation within the eyes of the mob revised her thinking. Riri shook her head at the chaos. Did the fools not understand that fighting men, men expected to die defending the besieged city, needed food?
New mothers clutched screaming infants as they pleaded for sustenance. Angry adolescents pushed the limits of Asnium discipline by pelting the mercenaries with withered fruit cores and animal bones. Brazen men taunted the guards by thrusting broken pitchforks, rusted blacksmithing tools, scythes, and dirks toward the soldiers. Only Riri's ring of sharpened steel, arrow and spear, held the peace by a taunt thread.
A female Legatus struggled through the crowd and stood between the two factions, hands stretched to her sides in an attempt to widen the gap. Riri recognized the golden locks of Marrinae, her savior, and wove through the tight ranks of mercenaries to stand beside the Legatus as she tried to calm the mob in the Libaian tongue. Although she could not comprehend the words, the captain could see hateful eyes tighten, hear the angry mumbles soar to a thick crescendo. She tugged on Marrinae's leather cuirass, trying to pull the fool away from the mob. You cannot reason with them, Marrinae. They see you as they see us, a foreigner stealing their food. The Legatus fought against her efforts and returned to her endeavors. Riri stood helpless, a slim branch against the tornado. She envisioned one inevitable outcome, the shedding of blood.
Something slammed against her face. Captain Gast fell to the ground as she clasped the wound along her temple and felt warm blood ooze through her fingers. Though still lost in a mental fog, Riri recognized the clear twang of a bow's recoil, an arrow's soft whistle through the air, and the sickening squish of metal piercing flesh. "No!" She tried to stand, to calm her forces, and fell to the ground as a wave of dizziness washed over her. The stalemate, reed thin, flimsy, snapped.
More arrows began their song of death as they joined the first. Angry shouts begat frightened screams as people died. Frightened screams begat shrieks of rage as the mob surged forward. The ring of steel tightened around the silo as the mercenaries fell back, exposing Marrinae and Riri to the advancing horde.
Riri glanced up at a slim youth whose overlarge garments fell from his pale shoulders. The young man raised a knife above his head. Riri, still nauseous, mustered enough strength to raise her injured arm. Riri prayed the Final Sacrosanct as custom dictated and awaited her end. She screamed as pain exploded above her heart.
A hand caught the boy's wrist. A fist struck him across the nose. The youth joined Riri upon the cobblestones. Riri glanced to her right and saw Marrinae dance amongst the crazed mob as she fought those closest to their position. While thankful for the intervention, Riri knew it would not stop them, she knew it would not stop the inevitable.
Numbers overwhelmed the female warrior as peasants attacked Marrinae from all sides. Riri tried to shout as a stout citizen struck the Legatus from behind with a large rock. Marrinae's knees buckled for a moment. In the next instant, she unsheathed her bladeless sword and raised pommel and hilt to the sky. Fire erupted from the item and stretched toward the sky. The plume sprouted leaves of flames that fell to the ground, dispersing the crowd as a fountain of fire rained upon them.
Riri felt spellbound by the display of power. In that moment of destruction, she comprehended why the Libaians allowed a foreigner to reach the highest echelons of their military. As the populace died, she thought back to the moment when Bellemarr unleashed his power and understood his wariness against attacking the city outright. It's not the army he fears. It's her.
The pain in her chest receded. Yet Riri still felt the severed vein pumping her life's blood out. Liquid, cool and sticky, trekked down her chest, seeping into crevices and cracks within her battered armor. So, it doesn't hurt when you die. The thought, distant, hazy, drifted away as fast as it came.
A dull throb began behind Riri's eyes, intruding upon her peaceful descent into oblivion. The feeling called him, summoned him from the fate that awaits all living creatures. She fought the strange power with an infant's strength. Against her will, Riri opened her eyes.
Marrinae kneeled before her. A tight smile creased a grim visage as she helped Riri to stand. The captain traced a finger where the knife struck and felt smooth skin. She gazed at Marrinae with unfeigned admiration and wished they spoke the same language. Instead, Riri pulled the Legatus into an embrace, and beheld the horror around them.
Riri pushed Marrinae away and stood. She spun in a tight circle. All around them charred Libaians and Asniums lay in haphazard poses. The sweet stench of burnt flesh filled the air. Around the ring of death, Libaias, capital of the Libaian Empire, burned.
Riri beheld Marrinae once more. Golden locks obscured her face as the Legatus stared at the stone walk. They shared an awkward silence before Marrinae turned and fled the murderous scene. Riri shook her head at the tragic irony. Bellemarr did not need to take the city by force. He could wait as Libaias tore itself apart.
Epilogue ~ Culmination
Rmuk relaxed his vigil of the God King as the human enjoyed a morning meal of strange fruits and water. He mimicked the God King's posture, legs crossed while sitting on the carpeted floor of the command tent. However, the ogre could only feign his master's composure. Last moon's vigil, interrupted by screams from the large man dwelling, replayed in his thoughts. He recollected the scent of fear filling his nostrils, the chorus of screams filling the night, and the fire- God King protect us- the fire! The ogresbane purged all moonlight as it swirled from the man dwelling, a portent of doom if there ever was, gone an instant after saturating the sky with its omen. Yet in the midst of it all, surrounded by six score of his kin, the God King smiled at the chaos, reassuring all that it was his will.
"Are the catapults complete, Rmuk?"
The voice snapped Rmuk to the present. He paused, confused.
"The siege engines, old friend. Did you complete them?"
Confusion persisted. "Ceginjun?"
Thin lips pursed in displeasure for a moment- only that- but the moment stretched into an eternity for the ogre. A flicker of worry at the loss of honor from displeasing the ogre clan's resurrected deity nestled in the pit of his gut. The God King sighed. "The- man weapons, Rmuk."
Ah yes, the man weapons, odd contraptions of wood and iron and hemp. Rmuk smiled, reliving last sun's pride drifting across the breeze as his kin tore apart the moving man huts and remade them per the God King's direction. He nodded, imitating the man movement of affirmation.
The God King smiled, returning the man movement while biting into a sour smelling ball of purple mush. "Did you load them as I asked?" His lord smiled at a second affirmation. "Good." The God King rose, already dressed in charcoal raiment and shimmering jewels. "Let's win an empire."
Rmuk leaped to rouse his kin, pulling the tent flaps apart. The God King grasped his elbow. "Only you and I will enter the city, old friend. The others must guard the city once I've arrived."
Rmuk gasped, pole axed by the change in plan. "No- no glory, God King?" The query felt leaden, ashy on his tongue. His kin possessed no such combination of syllables in their language. The lack of battle, after all this time-
"You question my judgment," the God King paused, forcing Rmuk to meet eyes closed to slits, "old friend?"
Rmuk swallowed, tracing the outlines of his wounded eye socket before bowing his head. "No, God King." His liege smiled before exiting.
Rmuk escorted the God King to one of the beasts men used for walking. It stood alone in the distance, attacking tufts of grass with a hoof. The God King mounted the midnight coated beast encased within ebony chamfron and saddle armor. The dark combination seemed
to blot the rising sun.
The God King strode toward Rmuk. "Will your clan remember how to operate the man weapons, Rmuk?"
"Yes, God King."
"Good, see to it then." Without waiting for a response, the lord turned his beast toward the city and waited.
Rmuk selected clan mates for the honor, knowing the price for shunning stronger clans. He ignored the promises for vengeance. The God King's Peace would keep and none would challenge his authority here, under the eyes of their god. Soon, two clan mates stood ready at each man weapon.
Although lacking comprehension, Rmuk maintained his faith in the God King's plan. Without questioning the motive, without rationalizing the result, the ogre leader commanded his clan mates to fire the man weapons. "Iazifilouh!"
Wood creaked. Taunt rope snapped. Oblong projectiles sailed into the air, arching toward the man village before disappearing behind the walls. An eerie silence followed. Rmuk spied his god leaning forward, studying the man dwelling. Ogres not selected to operate the man weapons began inspecting weapons and armor as they stood, preparing for the worst.
A loud cry erupted from the man village, a distinct counterpoint to last moon's music. Confused, Rmuk sought his god and found him smiling. "Keep firing, old friend."
Rmuk joined the crews, assisting them as they cocked the weapon back for a second shot, aiding with the loading before ordering another round. Wood creaked. Taunt rope snapped. An odd assortment of man food flew across the sky, drenching the man village with fruit and bread and fowl. Joyous chants filled the atmosphere.
After a third volley, the gates to the man village flew open. Rmuk reached for the sword strapped to his back and paused as no enemy stormed their position.
"Come, old friend." The God King guided his mount toward the open maw of the man dwelling.
Rmuk relayed the God King final orders before sprinting to catch up. The ogre remained a pace behind the four-legged beast, confused by the wrongness of this apparent victory, faithful despite it.
They crossed the threshold of no return. Row upon row of silent man things lining the pathway greeted them. Rmuk spied each face as the God King passed, searching for any sign of hostility. He nodded at the awestruck facade of a wrinkled creature no taller than his thigh, smiled at a little thing no larger than his forearm clutching a slice of bread as if salvation lay within, and sneered as he spied the God King's mate cowering under his gaze.
The God King paused, surveying the enraptured crowd. He said nothing, but something made the man things bend knee in an unscripted dance, a wave of homage to their new ruler. The wrongness of his master's triumph dissipated in that moment, as he too bent the knee.
THE END
About the author:
L. D. Dailey, a happily married father of four, slaves as an engineer during the day and dreams of becoming a published author throughout the night.
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More Stories from the author:
Symbol of the Order
Sitting in front of a sacked mosque, the watcher strained weary eyes against the rising sun obscuring the Temple of Solomon. A new day in the Holy Land did little to stave off the chill. The beggar-in-disguise pressed his rags, newly acquired from a deceased contributor, tighter around his slim frame.
The Byzantine cursed the name of Emperor Alexius, even while serving the man as his spymaster. "Jerusalem, the Kingdom of Heaven." A cynical snort answered his own mutters, "Nothing here but a den of thieves, murderers, and rapists. These fools pose no threat to the empire, just Christian wolves killing Muslim dogs, the whole lot of them."
A Wasted Life
Squeezing his slight paunch between a maze of empty desks obstructing a direct path, the weary cop meandered his way to the women's restroom, now the co-ed bathroom because of a bad pipe. In the triple-stalled bathroom, the officer stared at a pathetic image in the mirror while washing his hands. Tired, sunken, azure eyes stared back. A wrinkled hand traced the lines along his clean-shaven face. One more and you can turn me into a raisin. Combing over an ever-expanding bald spot in a futile attempt at concealment, he once more contemplating shaving all of the silver hairs and being done with it, and once more rejecting the insanity. Look like one of those Saturday Night Live Coneheads if I did. Straightening the chestnut tie, the vice detective pursed reed-thin lips as a chocolate stain revealed itself. Fifty-bucks down the drain. That's enough for one day. Time to go home.
Three minutes later, the officer began the journey home in a standard issue, ebony Expedition. He decided to check in on his partner, busy stashing away the cocaine from the earlier bust. The senior detective pressed the autodial on his Nokia. "How's my investment, Ernie?"
"We got a problem, Duvall." Mandrel sounded strained, and not from his forty-year-old smoking habit.
Duvall assumed the worst and leaned for the half-empty bottle of Rolaids stashed in the glove compartment. It never ends…
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Portfolio: https://Writing.Com/authors/duggadugga
Blog: https://lddailey.blogspot.com/
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