Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity Page 13

  Hephaestion took a few steps forward and stood at the very edge of the tables, his weight countered by Percival’s to prevent it from tipping over. “Good citizens of Hearthdale, your Hearthwarden speaks true. In the past we stood by you. Our leader, Pertinax the Second, sacrificed his life so yours could be spared.

  “He believed that the citizens of Hearthdale and all the Midland villages are worth this sacrifice, and so do we.” He looked at Percival and Dindrane, both nodding in turn, and continued. “Year after year you have suffered at the hands of the raiding Scylds, a people with no respect to your way of life.

  “They take your children, kill your friends, and steal the labor of your hard work.” He waved a finger at the crowd; pointing at random villagers seeming to react the most. “When will it end? When will your lives be yours once more?

  “I will tell you when.” He twisted his hand to form a fist. “It ends when you will it to end. After the assault we ventured south, to the lands of the Highborn.”

  The crowd started whispering among one another.

  “They were not the most hospitable people, but neither were they the most unreasonable. We proved ourselves to them just as we proved ourselves to you. As I stand before you now, hoping to convince you to better your lives, I stood before them and spoke my mind.

  “The Highborn bear no love to the Scylds, or to what they represent. They are a proud and strong people, and they do not prey on the weak—”

  “The Scands are butchers,” a voice from amidst the crowd interrupted.

  “When was the last time they attacked you?” asked Hephaestion.

  No one answered. The crowd burst in another bout of whispering, but no one spoke out.

  “As I said,” Hephaestion continued, “the Highborn bear no love for the Scylds and have decided to take arms against them. Their leader, a man by the name of Naa’tas, is our enemy. That makes them our enemy too. We will take measures to fight and bring the justice of our Empire upon them, but seeing that you too have an account to settle with the Scylds, I see no reason why we should not join our resources.”

  “And how do we fight them?” a villager asked from amidst the crowd.

  Hephaestion could not find the man, but he knew from where he spoke and directed his gaze towards him. “First you must seek shelter in Scandur where you would be most protected. There we will make certain that whoever of you volunteers to fight is armed and trained sufficiently to march with us on Scyldur.”

  “The people of Hearthdale have not left their homes for dozens of generations,” another voice spoke. “Now you want us to abandon all what our predecessors lived and died for?”

  “The Heroes do not ask of you such thing.” The Hearthwarden moved besides Hephaestion. Dindrane countered the impact her weight had on the imbalanced makeshift podium accordingly. “Look at how little progress we made during our lifetime.” She gestured at the buildings. “The mill remains unchanged since I was a child. It was repaired on several occasions, true, but still produces no more flour than it did back then.

  “The local smithy is even smaller now than when I was a child. Last time it burnt down I remember we held a meeting very much like this one to decide on how small it can be not to attract the attention of the Scylds when they next raided.

  “Our temple, the holiest of our buildings, has been burnt four times since then. I remember the last Hearthwarden, my predecessor, deciding that it would be best if we kept it as a pile of rubble. See, villagers of Hearthdale, the work of the past generations has been destroyed long ago. This is not the same Hearthdale they knew.”

  Silence prevailed in the crowd.

  Hephaestion, with nothing left to add, extended a helping hand to the Hearthwarden so she could descend from the stage. The Parthans followed accordingly, knowing that their work was done. The villagers of Hearthdale would, at least, consider the prospect of joining with the Highborn. It was all Hephaestion could hope for.

  8

  The Parthans’ plan was set in motion. Percival and Dindrane had organized the townsfolk into groups to travel to the different villages and convince them to join the fight. Each village would be approached with proposals that would match their interests.

  The twins themselves joined the travelers, separated to cover as many villages as possible in a carefully planned route suggested by the local traveling merchants acquainted with the lands.

  There was one part of the plan, however, that remained a mystery, Scyldur and the Scylds. Hephaestion knew that in order to best fight an enemy, it was crucial to understand them, a difficult task without the presence of Percival and Dindrane, the most skilled information gatherers among them.

  “We must travel to Scyldur,” Hephaestion said. The four remaining Parthans, Ganis, Ninazu, Thalia and himself, convened in his designated quarter at the local inn. He walked back and forth in the cramped space.

  “Are you certain Naa’tas will be there?” Ganis asked. She did suspect him to be at the heart of the conflict in Utyirth, but never had proof.

  Hephaestion wandered. “I am certain that both the Highborn the Midlanders would fare better confronting the Scylds now when the odds are not so tilted against them. I cannot say that I have the same confidence about Naa’tas’ whereabouts.”

  Holding the hilt of the sheathed Progenitor Blade, Ganis remembered that it was his will to guide the events into this direction. Helping Eos did more than lend his abilities to Ganis. It gave the Parthans an opportunity; one that they were determined to fully take advantage of.

  “It is a mere coincidence that our interests do not conflict with either the Highborn or the Midland villages.” Hephaestion said.

  “A rather convenient coincidence,” Ganis said.

  “Who’s to spy on our adversaries”, Thalia asked.

  “Ganis, Ninazu and myself. We need you to stay here and start the necessary preparation to ensure that our army is equipped when the time comes for battle.”

  Thalia nodded in agreement. She had grown tired from traveling and welcomed the opportunity to remain in Hearthdale.

  “I could go alone,” Ganis offered. “It would not be the first time I engage in such a mission.”

  Hephaestion eyed her intently, brushing his curly brown hair, and said, “We all trust in your skills and know well enough about your past to understand that you possess the necessary training for the task. Yet this does not change the fact that two sets of eyes are better than one - and three sets even better.

  “Not to mention that we do not know what awaits us in Scyldur. With Percival and Dindrane going about recruiting the villages to our cause, there is no guarantee that word of our actions will not reach Scyldur by the time we are there.”

  “Your words speak true, captain.”

  “Anyone has anything else to add?” Hephaestion scanned the three Parthans. They offered no response. “Then prepare to travel at daybreak.”

  Chapter 7: Leading to Darkness

  ‘To each is his fate, regardless of desire or need.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume II: Conversations).

  1

  Scyldur overflowed with life. Giant grey stone blocks formed a magnificent defensive wall around the city of fanatics. Smaller versions of the grey stones were used to make the inner structures supported by thick dark wooden beams. It was a bleakly artistic city.

  Colorful banners decorated every entrance of every structure and identified their purpose; an anvil for the blacksmith; a scale for the market; and a hut for the houses. Cobbled roads connected the buildings together, and occasional patches of greenery met travelers whenever there was enough space between the roads and structures.

  Unlike Scandur, Scyldur was a true city. It looked much like the large cities of Nosgard, but lacked the same magnitude and aesthetics. The Scylds, after all, were not a people of the arts, just of religion. Order, in Scyldur, prevailed.

  Three hooded figures, standing out, entered the city and mingled among the inhabitants engaging in
their daily lives; a woman buying vegetables for a stew she would cook later; a merchant setting up shop; and a guard patrolling the city to ensure all was well.

  Hephaestion guided his three loyal companions, to no particular aim other than to see the city and study it. He thought that a city told more about its people than the people themselves. At the time, Ganis thought, he was right.

  “A city like this in Utyirth!” Hephaestion said, quietly so only his close companions could hear. His hood covered his face, leaving only the briefest opening for him to see and breathe.

  “An unimpressive feat by Nosgardian standards,” Ganis said. At this moment she finally realized how much she missed the cities of Nosgard. Even during the Second Civil War, she would find consonance in knowing that she could, at least, enjoy a walk in a city whenever she wanted. The busyness of it, how it made her disappear in the crowd, often gave her relief that she was just another citizen of Nosgard.

  “It is a relative thing, Ganis. The city of the Highborn, the most feared men of all these lands, dull in comparison to that of the Scylds.”

  Suddenly the sound of a bell echoed across the walls of Scyldur. The citizens then halted for a moment, listening in silence to all five rings of the bell, and uniformly headed towards a large building located in what the Parthans assumed was the center of the town, with huge wooden gates extending twice as high as the tallest Highborn greeting its visitors. Above the gateway there was artistic stained glass forming the image of a black dragon extending its wings and covering a city looking much like Scyldur.

  “What do we do now?” Ganis glanced at the Parthans.

  “We investigate,” replied Ninazu almost instantly. He was not the man to make such remarks, but in Percival, Dindrane and even Thalia’s absence, there was no one else for the role. He eyed the buildings around him and picked one of the larger ones which he thought stood out. Pointing his finger at it, Ninazu started pacing towards it.

  As the three were about to turn away from the temple, a distant unfamiliar cry stopped them. “Halt!”

  The Parthans obeyed the command blindly. Standing back to back, they allowed themselves to be circled by a group or ironclad pikemen. Ganis noticed that they wore a uniform iron-crafted breastplate and padded grey wool pants with half-round pointed helmets protecting their heads, but not their faces. The three Parthans faced a dozen well-armed Scylds.

  “What is our offence?” Hephaestion asked, sword arm falling on his blade while the shield arm reached for Stopper, his newly-named kite shield.

  “Heresy!” The leader of the guards, a man no older than two decades, incapable of growing a beard, drew a mace and gestured the others to prepare themselves. The pikes fell and aimed at the intruders. “Your true colors have been unveiled as promised by the divines. You abandon your sacred duty, guiltless rodents.” A sudden halt came to the man’s speech before he raised his arm and cried, “Kill the heretics!”

  The guards fell upon them, stabbing at the air as their attempts to hit their targets kept missing. They were a poorly trained lot, but their numbers made them fierce.

  Hephaestion drew his blade and readied his shield. “To the gates!” He dodged, blocked and parried his way through the pikemen, clearing a path for Ninazu and Ganis to follow.

  Ninazu, with poisoned scimitar drawn and handbow armed - the mounted device on his left arm he himself named - slashed and shot at his foes. His poisoned bolts leaving their victims with agonizing screams as they tried to claw at their burning skin – the poison of a thousand ants, he called it.

  Ganis was left with few to fight, but Eos screamed for blood. The Progenitor Blade had an unquenchable thirst for Scyld blood, something had happened in his past, Ganis was certain, but she was never told anything about it.

  Hephaestion and Ninazu fought with matching grace as they ran through the town and towards the gate, escaping from the routes they came across blocked by loud clashing guards rushing towards them - they had iron tools which made iron sounds as they moved – by using other unblocked routes.

  With a single point to rush towards, Ganis knew that they would continue to run into dead ends. At some point, there will be nowhere left to go, but into hordes of armored guards, odds she deemed too risky. Eos slashed, felling foes like a hot knife cutting butter.

  A sacrifice had to be made. While Hephaestion and Ninazu continued to cut the guards down, causing more injury than fatalities, Ganis took the opportunity to defy Hephaestion’s orders. Amidst the heat of battle, she thought, he would fall back on his instinct – to finish his command regardless.

  Ganis disappeared into the crowd, cutting her own way to the other end of Scyldur, an end she did not know when she would reach. She cleaved at the guards, Eos as sharp as the first light of dawn itself, making the task effortless.

  “Ganis!” a distant voice cried. Hephaestion was looking for her.

  She remained silent. Killing as many as she could, dozens fell at the tip of her blade, but dozens would not be enough for her to survive. She ran deeper into the city, towards buildings she could no longer recognize. She had gone past the temple with stained glass, slashing and hacking, taking a few blows herself.

  Her arm ached and she changed her sword hand. All Peacekeeper officers were required to learn how to be ambidextrous when it came to all things fighting. A blow to her head was barely missed. Her movements became sluggish as exhaustion took its toll. Eos struck true regardless.

  “Ganis!” the voice echoed from a distance, it grew fainter.

  Perhaps I can kill them all, she thought.

  It is a suicidal path, Eos finally whispered. He had been so engaged in the battle that his words went silent. Against these numbers you stand no chance.

  What do you suggest I do?

  Save your strength.

  She ran deeper, avoiding the Scylds as they pierced and slashed at the air around her. She was still fast enough to dodge their slow blows. Then all hope died when she stood facing a cliff, darkness ahead. Night had fallen while she attempted her sacrifice. Hephaestion’s voice was nothing but a faint whisper in the wind.

  There was only one remaining thought in her head, and Eos knew it well. He tried projecting to her mind but she blocked him. Ganis had three to save that day, not two, for Eos had also become part of her Ona. She took a deep breath and summoned all the might she could. Then Eos flew from her hand towards the direction where she last heard Hephaestion’s call. Her life would not be meaningless.

  The cliffs or the mob of Scylds? She had to make a choice. She chose the latter, if she was to die this day, it would be with blood on her hands and a twisted smile on her face. The Dark Gift was finally released, fully.

  She summoned her speed, and strength too, and then as she charged cried, “For Nosgard!”

  The puzzled crowd of young and inexperienced soldiers cowered at the wild beast lunching her might towards them, biting, slashing, kicking and pushing her way into them.

  Suddenly, Ganis found herself in a clearing. She could hear no more guard blocking her path and no footsteps following her. Perhaps they finally realized that I will not go so easily, she thought. Her optimism was quickly brought to an end when she found herself facing a single man wearing a full set of black armor.

  A long black cape dropped from Naa’tas’ bare head, caressing his shoulders with their softness. The man’s eyes and hair were as dark as night and his skin slightly tanned - the mark of a pale man with many days spent in the sun.

  A feeling of despair prevailed, even though she faced a single man after her onslaught. “Step aside,” She said, blood covering her face and armor. The warning would not come again.

  The man cracked a smile and replied, “Make me.”

  Summoning whatever was left of her powers, the rune-glowing Protector violently dashed towards her opponent. She swung with impossible fury and speed - a force nature itself would seldom wield, yet nothing made contact. The more she missed, the more desperate she became. No introducti
ons were necessary for her to know whom she faced.

  Suddenly, the man grabbed her from the neck as she swung her fist, lifted her well above the ground, and smashed her into the cobbled road. In but a few moments, Ganis found herself laying head-first on the ground.

  “Your kind should know its place,” said Naa’tas. He squeezed tightly, lifting her while doing so, and smashed her once more into the stone, breaking it.

  Darkness overcame the moroi…once more.

  2

  Ganis spent most of her days aboard the Siren’s Tear in solitude, intentionally avoiding the company of others. She would often come across the other crew members and share idle talk. Sigurd was the only person who managed to avoid her entirely, a result from his generally uninviting air.

  This made Ganis even more curious about the lone warrior. If she wanted to meet the man, she knew that it would not be by chance.

  One day, when Ganis had amassed the will to talk to him, she went to the aft of the lower deck, where the man would spend his leisure time, and ambushed him on one of the hammocks designated for the crewmen; the one he claimed.

  Upon entering the faintly-lit room, Ganis found a hairless face with blue eyes staring at her. Sigurd, she knew, was not a man to be snuck up on. His senses were simply too keen. Knowing this about him did not make her any less shocked when the rugged hulk stood after sensing her approach. His frame was larger than any Ganis had ever seen before. His bald face bore no scars, but his eyes claimed a different story. Looking into the pale blue eyes of Sigurd Ganis saw that they were the eyes of a ruthless predator.

  “Sigurd, I assume,” with a shaken voice, Ganis said. She spent a few moments waiting for a reply, but received none. “I am sorry to alarm you while resting. I was hoping to talk to you before we land.” Ganis hoped to draw out Sigurd’s past from him.