Chapter 9
The city of Cathymel was overwhelming in its beauty like something out of a storybook. Vultrel had often heard descriptions of the paved roads and whitewashed walls, but no amount of words could've prepared him for what met him past the border. Shining silver spires topped the skyline where manors of the more wealthy lords and ladies stood surrounding the beautiful Castle Asteria. The streets were paved with an alternating pattern of white and grey cobblestone, and none looked as though they'd ever been used. Seemingly every home had a lush garden somewhere on the property; even the pots held some of the most radiant and full flowers Vultrel had ever seen. Each house was free of imperfections, built from white stone bricks without a single crack or dent and topped by roofs shingled in varying shades of grey. Even the fences around each property where white, each looking as though they'd been freshly built and without a single blemish worth noting. It all created an atmosphere that made Vultrel feel extremely out-of-place, especially when he noticed the dirty prints left behind by their horse's hooves.
To the people, the remains of the Keroko Militia must've looked like a band of refugees from a poverty-stricken country. Bandaged and dirty, wearing dented armor and torn leather stained with blood, the surviving members of Eaisan's army sharply contrasted the beauty and nobility of Cathymel. The people stared as they trotted through the streets, many wearing their disgust openly on their faces. Others eyed the soldiers' weapons; clearly this was a city that was not used to defending itself. Even the lowliest peasant wore fine garments of blue and red and other colors that Vultrel found to be overly flashy.
Further in, the shops and inns began popping up where the commoners' homes were divided from the royal estates of the nobles. Merchants and peddlers hawked their wares even as the final rays of sunlight faded behind the trees. A city so large had room for multiple shops of the same trade, a concept that baffled Vultrel. They passed at least three tailors and four cobblers before they'd even reached the center of the marketplace, and several more of each stood interspersed with the blacksmiths, fletchers, and bakers. The cleanliness of the city reigned here as well. Vultrel saw two butchers along the way, and both wore aprons of spotless white.
But seeing the distance between the border walls and Castle Asteria gave him a bit of comfort. Surely the Mages would not be able to cover such ground before they were stopped. Even if they had fitted Arus with one of those implants, who among men could stand up against the might of five hundred Royal Guardsmen bearing down upon them? You underestimate the Mages. Vultrel could almost hear Truce gloating in his ears. The man's confidence was unshakeable—even Anton's death hadn't caused him to waver—and Vultrel was sure that, even if he was defeated, Truce would go down with a sword in his heart and that grin on his face. It made his stomach twist.
They exited the marketplace and veered onto a long street of gated manors, each built on hilltops at the end of cobblestone paths that led far from the gates themselves. Hand-carved wooden benches lined the road, each with a tree planted behind to provide shade. As the militia curved along the path toward the center of the city, a horseman in shining silver armor and helmet that covered all but his eyes reigned his mare in front of them. "Halt!" Eaisan raised his fist in a gesture that the rest of the Keroko men recognized as the signal to stop. The unknown soldier gave no time for introductions. "Captain Eaisan Lurei of the Keroko Militia, I presume?"
"I am," Eaisan responded, bowing in his saddle. "We bring terrible news from the south and seek an audience with His Majesty."
The Cathymel guard removed his helmet, revealing a young man with short reddish-gold hair and far too many freckles. He was young, but his demeanor matched that of any battle-hardened soldier. "I am Martine Del Mezzaro," he began with an enthusiastic, if stiff salute, "Retainer to the Throne of Asteria, Servant and Protector of His Majesty, Lord Edgard Sarathon, Bringer of Peace." It was quite an introduction.
"May I see the king?" Eaisan got right to the point. "It is terribly urgent."
"His Majesty is expecting you, Captain." Martine nodded. "Border patrol sent a messenger as fast as they could once you arrived at the gates. Lord Sarathon has already ordered the mobilization of the Royal Guard, and my men are spreading across the city as we speak to implement a curfew so that lives might be spared in the event of an attack. In addition, the gates of Cathymel will be locked at once. The city will be on lockdown until we can properly assess the threat and neutralize it."
That was fast. Vultrel couldn't imagine how hard that messenger must've pushed his horse to reach the king so quickly. Eaisan seemed equally impressed. "I am glad to hear it," his father said with a smile. "But there is a great deal more that I must share with His Majesty. If you please, there isn't a moment to lose."
"Of course, Captain." Martine nodded again before replacing his helmet. "Follow me."
They took off at a full gallop this time, the horses' hooves echoing like a roll of thunder across the street. Vultrel wrapped his arms around his father's waist—it was all he could do to keep from being thrown from the saddle—and watched over Eaisan's shoulder as the path curved through the nobles' estates and led toward Castle Asteria. Upon rounding a sharp curve and cresting a steep hill, the castle suddenly came into view in all of its glory and majesty. If he hadn't been holding on so tightly, Vultrel's jaw would've dropped wide open.
It was like everything from the stories and more. Even as twilight descended upon the land, the final beams of sunlight glinted off of the silver spires where the Red Bear banner flew. Smaller towers lined the castle wall where archers stood watch, and armored swordsmen paced back and forth between each. The royal crest of Asteria, the Red Bear's head against a starry backdrop, hung on another banner just above the castle gates. The entire structure was more majestic and beautiful than Vultrel ever thought it would be, and it eased his concerns that much more to see the structure so heavily guarded. Even if they did make it across the city, there's no way the Mages would be able to break through those defenses, right?
The horses slowed to a trot as they approached the gate, and Martine removed his helmet again. Two guards with long spears stood on either side of the lock, their blue armor shining as though freshly polished. They eyed Martine as he saluted. "I've returned with those His Majesty has expected. These men have requested an audience with Lord Sarathon, and it has been granted to them. Please allow them to pass."
The guards saluted immediately, and another on the opposite side of the gates unlocked and slid them open. Eaisan instructed any of his men still wearing helmets to remove them, and glanced at Vultrel. "Just follow my lead. His Majesty commands our utmost respect, and we shall give it to him. He deserves nothing less for the grace and kindness he's bestowed upon Asteria during his years as our king."
Vultrel nodded with a gulp. He'd never been in the presence of royalty before, and he didn't know the first thing about etiquette when it came to meeting a king or a queen. At least he had his father's example to draw from. Inside the castle walls, the soldiers dismounted and allowed the servants to lead their horses away before passing through the magnificent arch beneath the Red Bear banner.
If the outside of the castle had been beautiful, then the inside was paradise. Golden lanterns and candelabras adorned the walls between fantastic tapestries depicting everything from the peaceful beaches of South Sea to the serenity of the Lamonde Plains. A vivid red carpet lined with golden trim ran down the corridor to the Grand Hall. Two curving staircases rose on either side there, divided by a fountain of crystal clear water in the center. Soldiers guarded each doorway and staircase, armed with pikes or swords or axes. Servants scurried everywhere, carrying trays with silver goblets and armfuls of silk sheets. Martine led them up the staircase on the left and down a corridor behind the fountain toward two ornately-carved doors. A servant stood waiting at the door, a curly-haired young man with downcast eyes.
"Captain Eaisan and the Keroko Militia are here to see His Majesty," Martine told the man.
The little servant bowed deeply before opening the door and entering. Martine didn't follow, instead allowing the door to close. After a few moments, Vultrel tapped his father's shoulder. "Why can't we go in?"
"Our arrival must first be announced, so that we do not intrude on any matters currently taking place in the Throne Room," Eaisan told him in a whisper. "When the King is ready for us, the servant will return and grant us entry."
It didn't take long for the doors to open, and they filed into the Throne Room behind their announcer. The throne stood not fifty paces before them, and the regal smile of Lord Sarathon appeared when they entered. He was an old man, wiry and wrinkled beneath his billowing white beard, his warm eyes sparkling nearly as much as the crown on his head. He used the long scepter in his hand for support as he stood, smoothing his red robe with the other hand. Soldiers stood guard on either side of the throne, joined now by Martine and an elderly woman that Vultrel could only assume was Sarathon's maid. It was a well-known fact that Queen Mariale had died long ago from a sickness that had degenerated her brain, and without her, King Sarathon had needed an assistant to help him in his old age. But old or not, the man had done Asteria well during his time on the throne, and Vultrel wasn't sure any other man could've brought the kingdom together as well as Sarathon had during the Vermillion War.
The Throne Room was certainly fit for royalty. It was hard not to stare at the great stained-glass windows high above the king, one depicting a sunrise over the Lamonde Plains, the other showing the Red Bear looking to the moon. Red banners ran down the walls on either side between archways that presumably led to personal quarters of both Sarathon and his servants. The high-domed ceiling was supported by oak framework, from which elaborate golden lanterns hung. How the servants were able to light and extinguish them was a curiosity for Vultrel.
Eaisan immediately dropped to one knee and lowered his head. The rest of the militia followed suit, matching their captain's movement out of respect for their king. Vultrel quickly did the same, sneaking quick glances at his father to make sure he'd positioned himself correctly.
"Eaisan Lurei," the old man began, hobbling forward, "Master of Blades, Captain of Honor. It is good to see you again, old friend."
"You honor me with the use of my former titles, Your Majesty," Eaisan replied with a smile, "but I have long since passed my prime, and I am but a mere soldier of peace now."
"Your age does not erase your accomplishments in life, Eaisan," Sarathon said, stopping in front of the militia. "Rise, Captain."
Eaisan returned to his feet, and Vultrel began to stand as well, until he noticed that the rest of the militia remained on one knee, and he hastily dropped again.
"It has been far too long, Eaisan," Sarathon was saying, hugging his old friend.
"I only wish my return could have been under better circumstances," Eaisan told him as the king began hobbling back to his throne. "The situation is far more dangerous than I fear you've been told."
Sarathon groaned a bit as he lowered himself into the throne. His old bones seemed ready to give way at any moment. "Then speak, my friend. Tell me what has been happening in the Mayahol Desert that has you so concerned."
"Sartan Truce, son of Aratus, has taken command of the Vermillion Mages, and he is on his way to Cathymel to attempt to overthrow you," Eaisan began. He went on to describe, in brief, their experience in the underground lair of the Mages, along with Anton's untimely demise and Arus' battle with Truce. No mention of Damien or Kitreena was made. The less mentioned about those two, the better. "The army we met on the Lamonde Plains was no doubt headed here."
"Well, you need not concern yourself anymore," Sarathon waved his hand. "The Royal Guard will handle them, and the threat to Keroko, Narleaha, and the rest of Asteria will be over."
"I'm afraid it's not as easy as that," Eaisan said with a shake of his head. "Another implant has been constructed, and Master Dayne Sheeth's son Arus has been fitted with this newer model."
Vultrel's could not stop his eyes from shooting to his father. What!?
"Silence, soldier," Eaisan muttered softly. Vultrel hadn't realized that the exclamation had been vocal.
Sarathon pursed his lips in contemplation. "Are you certain of this, Captain?"
"Absolutely. I saw him on the battlefield during our run-in with the Mages on the Plains."
Why didn't he tell me? Vultrel ground his teeth. Learning his best friend was still alive was no good news given his apparent condition.
"I thought you said the boy's arm had been severed," the king was saying. "Do you mean to tell me that Truce tended his wound?"
"More than that," Eaisan bowed his head. "His arm has been replaced by a machine, a metal device designed to mimic a human arm. If anything, it makes him more dangerous. A machine would be impervious to the weaknesses of the human body, and presumably capable of abnormal strength and stamina."
I'll have Truce's head for this! Vultrel grew angrier with every word. That grinning face will be on a pike in front of our house before I'm through with him!
"A machine . . ." Sarathon trailed off as his eyes became distant. "You know what this means, don't you Captain?"
"Yes, Sire." Eaisan met the king's regretful expression. "And I do not like it any more than you. We cannot allow machines to be reintroduced into our society."
Sarathon rose from his throne. "Agreed. Regretfully, I must order that both Truce and Arus be executed at once."
"What?!" Vultrel couldn't stop himself from leaping to his feet. "But it's Arus! You can't do that to him!"
"Mind your place, Soldier!" Martine growled, pointing his blade at Vultrel. "You are but a servant of His Majesty, and you will not question his word!"
Vultrel looked at Eaisan expectantly. "But, Father! You can't just kill Arus because of this! He's a victim, not an enemy!"
"Vultrel, I told you to respect Lord Sarathon!" Eaisan snapped, his face hard as stone. "Now, kneel as a soldier or you'll find yourself arrested as a traitor!"
"Now, now, now," Sarathon began, shaking his head. "No need to be so hard on the boy, Eaisan." The old man stood and hobbled toward Vultrel, eying him up and down. "Your son, is he?"
Eaisan visibly grit his teeth. "Yes, Sire. I apologize for his behavior. I obviously haven't taught him—"
"Do not apologize, Captain. It can be hard for youth to understand the decisions of their elders, especially at his age." He looked Vultrel in the eye. "Are you friends with Arus? Do you know Dayne's boy?"
Vultrel was trying to fight back tears. I can't let them kill him. I'll defend him myself, if I have to. "He's like a brother to me, Sir . . . I mean, Your Highness."
"Well, you've seen this machine of Truce's in action before, haven't you? Do you believe there is a way Arus can be saved?"
Vultrel looked at his father, whose stern glare told him he was in for a fearsome tongue-lashing. "Anton broke free," he managed to say. "If Anton could do it, then so could Arus. Arus can do anything."
"But your father tells me that Arus has been killing Keroko soldiers," Sarathon reminded him. "It doesn't sound to me as though he can free himself."
Vultrel shook his head. "He just hasn't found a way yet. He will, though. I know he will. He won't let Truce continue to force him to murder. He won't!"
"How do you know, Vultrel?" Eaisan's voice shook him. "You can bet that Truce took steps to prevent what happened to Anton from happening to Arus."
"I know, but . . ." he felt a tear run down his cheek. "But . . . I mean . . . He's my best friend."
Sarathon looked at him for another moment before turning away. "Do you know of the war that nearly destroyed Terranias, young one?"
"Yes," Vultrel took the chance to wipe his eyes. "It is said that man used machines of immense power to wage war on one another, leveling grea
t cities and killing most of the people."
Sarathon was hobbling back toward the throne. "Then you know the dangers that machines can bring. You see, technology can be a wonderful thing, but there are always those out there who will use it for the most unimaginable evil, killing the innocent and dragging regular peace-loving commoners down with them. There are stories of a device called a ‘Tommic Bomb,' which had the strength to flatten any city or town caught within miles of its detonation. There were flying machines that carried more weapons, all mechanically operated and capable of killing hundreds just by pulling on a lever. And then there was the Vermillion War. Do you remember any of that, or were you too young back then?"
Vultrel had his eyes closed. "I remember," he said in a squeak. He hadn't exactly intended on putting himself in the position to listen to a lecture from Lord Sarathon.
"Good, then you remember the machines that the Vermillion Mages used to attack your village along with many others. They had weapons that would fire bursts of light so great that they'd incinerate whatever was in their sights. There were flying machines that carried more weapons, and portable mechanical weapons that their soldiers could carry. It was a dark time for Asteria, and many feared it was going to be the Great War all over again."
"I know that machines are dangerous, but if we could somehow free Arus' mind so that he could—"
"And if we can't?" Eaisan cut in. "Vultrel, I will not risk the lives of many to save the life of one. You know that Arus is just as important to me as he is to you, and when the time comes, I'm going to live the rest of my life regretting what I had to do. But my duty to our people must always come first. You wanted to be a soldier, right? The most important aspects of any soldier's life are duty and obligation. We put our lives on the line so that the people can live in safety, and to allow Arus to roam free in his condition would jeopardize the lives of not only Asterians, but people all over the world."
Vultrel couldn't let himself be convinced. Arus was his best friend. Arus is my best friend! He's alive, and as long as he is, I won't give up on him! "But Father, can't we at least try to—"
"Your Majesty!" a panicked voice called as the doors swung open. A soldier rushed into the room and hastily removed his helmet, revealing a black-haired man of considerable age. "A caravan has arrived from Narleaha. They say they bring news of an invasion into their village!"
"I thought the gates were ordered to be sealed," Eaisan asked the man.
"They are," the soldier confirmed. "This caravan was the last to enter before the patrolmen at the border received the orders."
"Ask them to appoint a representative from amongst them, and then show that person in when I have finished with the Keroko Militia," Sarathon told him. "You are dismissed."
"Yes, My Lord!" the soldier barely had the words out before the helmet was back on his head and he raced through the doors.
Vultrel glanced at his father. "I didn't see any caravan along the way."
Eaisan shrugged. "They may have been behind us."
"But the Mages were behind us," Vultrel shook his head. "If there were travelers coming from Narleaha, they would've arrived after the Mages, and we haven't heard anything from Truce yet."
The smile vanished from Eaisan's face as he looked up, obviously puzzling the rest out. "Unless they acquired Narleahan disguises!" His eyes bulged. "The horses! They had to have gotten them from Narleaha! That means—"
A panicked voice cut him off from the other side of the door. "I'm sorry, Sir, but as I told you before, His Majesty is currently entertaining guests from Keroko and—" The soldier's voice was silenced, and moments later the doors flew open.
A small figure in a brown cloak entered, a cloak Vultrel recognized all too well. A hand of shining metal protruded from one sleeve, clutching the red and white handle of Dayne Sheeth's sword. Only the right side of the boy's face was visible under the brown cowl, but what Vultrel could see was nearly enough to make him vomit. It was Arus, and he was wearing the same cloak that Anton had donned moments before his death. Sartan Truce marched in not far behind, dressed in commoner's clothing and wearing that infuriating grin plastered across his face. For a moment, he thought the two were alone—Truce would never make such a blunder—but he suddenly became aware of a myriad of sounds coming from the direction of the Great Hall. Screams and shouts mixed with the rumble of distant explosions and the clashing of swords. The Mages were creating a diversion while Truce and Arus simply waltzed into the Throne Room.
"Draw your weapons, men!" Eaisan ordered without hesitation. "They come for the king!"
The Keroko militia donned their helmets—those that still had them—and drew their swords in unison as they whirled to face the newcomers. Behind them, Martine had already replaced his helmet, and he took a firm hold on Sarathon's arm. "Highness, we must escort you to safety! Follow me!"
The king nodded reluctantly, shouting to Eaisan as he fled behind Martine's protection. "Good luck, Captain! No matter what happens, Asteria owes you its eternal gratitude!" The final words echoed from the archway beside the throne as Martine whisked him away. The old woman followed closely, sparing Eaisan only a look of regret before chasing after them.
"Well, well," Truce began, taking in the soldiers before him. "Look what we have here. We've come to visit our great and powerful leader and wind up stumbling upon our runaways. How convenient!"
"Arus!" Vultrel shouted, stepping forward. Eaisan's hand pulled him back by the shoulder.
"Careful," his father warned. "He's not Arus anymore. He'll kill you without blinking once."
A dangerous gleam flashed in Truce's eyes. "Prepare to join your partner in the grave, Eaisan."
Arus' free hand took hold of the cloak and threw it away, revealing the cybernetic implant and mechanical arm Truce had grafted to his body. Vultrel's heart nearly caved in upon itself at the sight of the thing. It was at least three times as large as Anton's had been, reaching up into Arus' scalp on his left side and covered with small bundles of twisted wires. His left eye had also been removed, replaced with a steel cylinder that glowed with a blood-red light. Well-polished steel plating dotted with screws and bolts surrounded it, crudely molded in a feeble attempt to match the structure of Arus' face. Beneath it, his entire left shoulder had been reconstructed with a series of steel joints and gears that allowed his mechanical arm to move as though it were human. It was like something out of one of Eaisan's campfire stories come to life, though if Eaisan were telling this one, Arus would suddenly burst free of Truce's hold and slay the Mage where he stood.
But this was no story.
The red glow of the mechanical eye grew, emitting a strange hum from the device. Arus turned his head toward the soldiers to his right and squinted with his human eye. A bar of white-red light shot from the implant and went straight through four soldiers before becoming a scorch mark on the far wall. Flesh and bone vaporized under the intense heat, and the men crashed to the floor with eyes frozen in terror. Before Vultrel or Eaisan could even step forward, three more flashes from that eye dropped the remaining Keroko soldiers.
That left Vultrel, Eaisan, and the two guardsmen of the Throne Room. Eaisan glanced at them, armored from head to two in polished steel. No doubt Arus' light weapon would burn right through it. "Men," his father began, "go and tell Lord Sarathon what you've just witnessed, and then take him as far from this castle as you can."
They were reluctant, of course. Still, the men hesitated only a moment before agreeing and rushing after the king.
Vultrel just gaped at Eaisan's ability to shrug off the deaths of his comrades. He knew that, as a captain, Eaisan had to be strong in even the toughest situations, but watching the remains of the Keroko Militia fall at the feet of one of his students had to wrench his heart. What are we going to do? If Arus turns that eye on us, we're toast!
"Arus," Truce's voice startled him. "Finish them."
Eaisan's sudden cry startled him even more as his father drew his sword and lunged forward. His blade met Arus' weapon just above the boy's red hair. "Vultrel, attack!" he urged through clenched teeth. "We cannot give him a chance to use that eye-beam weapon again!"
The moment Vultrel had dreaded had arrived. "B-But Father!"
"Now, Vultrel!" Eaisan exchanged a series of blows with Arus. "I cannot defeat him alone!"
Vultrel growled, realizing his sword was in his hand. I can't believe I'm doing this. "Forgive me, Arus!" he shouted, his feet barely touching the floor as he ran. Eyes squeezed shut, he brought his weapon down as hard as he could toward his best friend's back. It met steel with a deafening clang, and when Vultrel opened his eyes, Arus' blade was pushed hard against his own. Each movement happened in less than the blink of an eye as the implant guided Arus through dueling both his best friend and his teacher, using forms and techniques Vultrel knew Eaisan hadn't taught him. The three battled hard across the floor of the throne room, sparks flying with nearly every parry and strike. Sartan Truce watched with a beaming smile on his face, clearly certain that Arus would put an end to the last remaining resistance to his claim to the throne of Asteria.
"I don't recognize most of his techniques," Vultrel said in a grunt, blocking Arus' attack.
"Nor I," was Eaisan's reply. "Truce has been training him, it seems."
"Not quite," Sartan chimed in. "You see, the implant allows me to program functions for Arus to perform. I simply programmed him with every technique of every fighting style I know. The core processor of the unit is capable of calculating millions of possibilities based on your movements and chose the most appropriate counterattack in less than a second. You could say that it knows what you're going to do before you even do it."
Though the technical nonsense didn't make sense, the last sentence made the situation crystal clear. It was the last thing Vultrel wanted to hear, and it turned an already bad situation into a nightmare. How in the world were they going to defeat Arus with all of that information for the implant to draw on? May as well cut off their hands and caged them with a lion.
"You are not fighting to your full potential, Son!" Eaisan warned between attacks. "I know he is like your brother—he is as much my own son—but we cannot allow Asteria to fall to the Vermillion Mages!"
"Then let's kill Truce, not Arus!" Vultrel argued, deflecting two quick strikes. "He's the one responsible!"
"Killing Truce won't stop him! He is brainwashed with the desire to see King Sarathon dead, and whether Sartan Truce lives or dies, Arus will not stop until it has happened!"
Vultrel grit his teeth and struck again. The three fought back and forth in a blur of steel; Arus responded to each attack with two of his own. There has to be a way to save him!