Warbringer - Chapter 4
Romaine sat in silence as the sun clawed its way over the eastern mountains, casting back the dark...
★★★★★ "Great start to a new series! Interesting characters and a unique storyline set in a world that begs to be explored or in this case survived. Definitely worth checking out!"
Centuries ago, the world fell.
From the ashes rose a terrible new species—the Tangata.
Now they wage war against the kingdoms of man. And humanity is losing.
Recruited straight from his academy, twenty-year-old Lukys hopes the frontier will make a soldier out of him. But Tangata are massing in the south, and the allied armies are desperate. They will do anything to halt the enemy advance—including sending untrained men and women into battle. Determined to survive, Lukys seeks aid from the only man who seems to care: Romaine, the last warrior of an extinct kingdom.
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Romaine sat in silence as the sun clawed its way over the eastern mountains, casting back the dark. Exhaustion hung across his shoulders like a cloak, but he had not slept. Through the long night he had waited, axe in hand, to see whether the Tangata would return. Now as he watched the light reclaim the world, he felt the weight of disappointment on his soul.
It wasn’t that he wished to die. Only that…he was so tired of the pain. Every morning when he woke, there was a short moment when he did not remember, the briefest of seconds when his heart was free.
Then the memories would return, and with them the agony of loss.
Exhaling, Romaine looked across the earthen rampart to where Lieutenant Marco lay in the mud. Romaine hadn’t seen the man’s death, though it must have happened in the first hour of the attack. One of the beasts had torn out his throat. At least it had been quick.
The irony of the man’s death was not missed on Romaine. Marco had survived the Tangata in the forest and the crossing, made it all the way back to Fogmore—only for death to find him on the town walls.
Below, the mudflats were silent, the enemy long dead. He should have slept, should have retired to his bed after the long journey. But he could never sleep after a battle. And so he had sat here in the darkness, waiting, remembering.
The light around the mountains grew brighter as the sun reached for open skies, and soon movement began below. Soldiers emerged from the river gates and walked amongst the dead, claiming armour and weapons to be inherited by a new generation of recruits. Slowly the dead were gathered into piles, one for the human fallen, another for the Tangata. The bodies cloaked in red and blue must have outnumbered the beasts five to one.
Romaine was still sitting atop the ramparts when the first of the pyres was lit. By then a soft snow was falling. The ice flakes glistened in the dawn light as they drifted down, settling on the barren earth. Come noon the combination of ice and marching boots would churn the ground to mud. Fogmore truly was a Godsforsaken place.
Only when Romaine’s breath began to fog on the frozen air did he finally lift his axe and rise to turn away…
…only to find a pair of amber eyes watching him.
He had forgotten the strange Calafe woman, and the sight of her sitting on a nearby barrel gave him pause. He’d assumed someone had seen her to safety, but in the chaos, he supposed no one had thought to take responsibility for her safety. It was a miracle she had survived.
“What are you doing here, lass?”
Cara shrugged, her eyes lingering on the lieutenant’s body. Though she had not known the man, Romaine glimpsed sadness in those amber depths. He remembered having such compassion once. He had lost it long ago, somewhere between the endless battles and death. There had been no choice—caring, loving, it offered nothing but pain in this war. Against the Tangata, death was inevitable. It was just a matter of when.
“I wanted to see,” Cara replied, her gaze turning to the burning pyres, and the blackened ruins of the ship that had carried them clear of her homeland.
Romaine frowned. “I would have thought you saw enough last night.”
A shudder shook the woman. “So much evil.” Her eyes did not leave the flickering fire. “So much death.”
“They kill everything that crosses their path,” Romaine murmured, pain wrapping its thorny tendrils around his heart.
Finally Cara broke off her watch over the fires. “You have suffered from them?”
Romaine couldn’t help but shiver as their eyes met. There was something about the woman’s gaze, some ageless quality, as though she had seen far more than her youthful appearance implied. What had happened to her out there in those woods? How long had she wandered, without her family?
After a moment, he realised he hadn’t answered her question. He shook his head and forced a grim smile. There was no point reliving that pain; it was enough that he still lived, and that his axe had sent another of the beasts into the abyss.
“We should do something about your arm,” he said instead, nodding to his makeshift cast. “You might have other injuries too. The camp doctor should really check you over…”
“No!” Cara hissed, taking a step back from him, eyes wide with fright.
Romaine raised his hands, his heart inexplicably racing. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, “but we still need to do something about that arm. I’m no doctor, and that splint I made is already half falling off. You don’t want the bone to mend crooked.”
Lips pursed, Cara looked from Romaine to her injured arm. As if to test his words, she stretched out her hand, and flinched. Pain tightened her face and she sank back to her barrel—though to her credit, she did not cry out.
“I…I might be able to help.”
Quick as a viper, Cara was back on her feet, arms raised as she swung on the newcomer. Beyond her, a young man in Perfugian colours yelped and leapt backwards. His feet slipped in the mud before he could flee and sent him crashing to the ground. Landing face-first in the mud atop the ramparts, he thrashed, and would have probably gone tumbling down the slope back to the city had Romaine not strode across and plucked him from the muck.
“Hey…what…get off!” the man cried.
Chuckling, Romaine set the man carefully on his feet. Behind him, Cara mirrored his mirth, her laughter peeling from the ramparts. The man’s blue uniform, along with his face, was now stained top to bottom with mud. Pink tinged his pale cheeks as he stood there, head bowed, brown eyes locked to the ground as though it had been cast by some great artist.
“So, what were you saying, lad?” Romaine asked when the laughter finally died away.
The man’s eyes flashed as he glanced at Cara, but she only responded with an innocent smile. Whatever the Perfugian had been expecting, it had not been that. Shaking his head, he looked back at Romaine.
“You saved my life,” he said softly.
Romaine raised his eyebrows. It was a moment before his memories clicked into place and he recognised where he’d seen the young man before. This was the recruit who had crouched at the feet of the Tangata Romaine had killed earlier.
“It was nothing, lad,” he grunted. “I’ve made a habit of gutting the bastards.” A grin split his bearded cheeks. “Though you might want to consider keeping on your feet next time.” He glanced at the Perfugian’s mud-stained clothing. “Falling over is not a habit I would recommend around these parts.”
The pink in the Perfugian’s cheeks darkened to red but Romaine only clapped him on the shoulder. From the crispness of the man’s uniform, he guessed this was one of the fresh recruits from Perfugia. Word amongst the Flumeeren soldiers was that the column had arrived just before the battle, and had actually participated. It was more than could be said for most of the recruits out of Perfugia, though from the number of blue uniforms amidst the pyres, it seemed their bravery had come at a hefty cost.
“So what’s the name, lad?” he asked when the recruit did not respond to his goad.
The recruit started, his head jerking up, as though surprised to be asked the question. “Lu…Lukys,” he stammered.
“Romaine.” He held out a hand, and after a moment Lukys took it in his. “Now,” Romaine continued, “what were you saying about helping young Cara here?”
Lukys blinked, looking at the still smiling woman, then back to Romaine. “What…oh, yes right, her arm.”
“Her arm,” Romaine agreed.
“It’s broken?”
The axe man sighed, already regretting entertaining the young man. “Well, we’d need a doctor to say for sure…”
“Yes,” Cara interrupted. She stepped up beside them, arm cradled to her chest. “I fell, out there,” she said, indicating the land beyond the river. “I’m sorry for laughing,” she added. “I am not used to…people.”
Silence answered her words. Romaine glanced at Lukys and saw the youth’s mouth had fallen open. His eyes were on the river, and he realised the recruit probably knew nothing about Calafe and his people.
“You…were…you came…from Calafe?” the young man finally managed to stammer.
Laughter danced in Cara’s eyes as she shared a glance with Romaine, but this time she was wise enough not to voice it. Instead she nodded to her forearm. “Do you think you can help?”
Lukys glanced from the river to Cara. “I…” He swallowed, then drew in a great breath. It must have helped him gather his wits, for when he spoke next, his tone was almost calm. “I…yes, I think so. They taught us all sorts of things at the academy, to prepare us, you see, may I?”
It took a moment for Romaine to pick the meaning from the man’s jumbled words. It took Cara longer still, but after a pause she finally offered her arm. She stood with her back arched, jaw clenched as Lukys gently took her arm in his hands.
“You’re a medic?” Romaine asked, attempting to distract the woman from her phobia.
“What?” Lukys murmured, then shook his head. “No, I wanted to be, but I…failed, apparently,” he answered before Romaine could repeat the question. He didn’t seem to notice the tension in his patient as he carefully removed the makeshift splint Romaine had made. “We…all did, I suppose, all of us here.” His eyes flickered and Romaine glimpsed the shame that hid there. “But then, you already knew that.”
“We’re all failures at something, lad.”
Lukys snorted, but this time he did not reply. The last bandage came loose, revealing the purple bruises that marked Cara’s pale skin. They spread almost the length of her forearm. It must have been quite the fall, to leave such a bad break.
“Fortunately, I do remember how to treat a fracture,” Lukys added finally. He shot Cara a smile, as though to reassure her.
Cara did not reply. All colour had drained from her face and she looked like she might explode from her coat of heavy furs at any moment. The recruit’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and he glanced at Romaine in question.
“Will you heal her with your hands, lad?” Romaine asked in response.
“I…” He trailed off, looking around, as though checking for listeners. “I have some supplies in my pack. I left it in the plaza, but I can get them.” Carefully he lowered Cara’s arm to her side and released her, then turned and hurried down the slope into the town.
In his absence, Romaine turned back to Cara. “You okay, lass?”
Cara nodded, though she had grown pale enough to be mistaken for a ghost. “Are…all the people of Perfugia so strange?” she asked.
Romaine grinned and took a seat on another of the water barrels that stood nearby. “Hard to say,” he replied. “We only get the misfits down here. Lad’s heart seems in the right place. You sure you don’t want a real doctor though? They’ve got stuff that’ll help with the pain.”
Cara’s face darkened. “No,” she said shortly.
After that, they waited in silence for the young man to return. He appeared a few minutes later, large pack strapped to his back. A spear hung from one side, a helmet the other. With a sleeping roll atop, he looked more tortoise than man as he rattled his way up the slope. Romaine watched his approach with amusement, too fatigued to go down and help.
“You carried all that from Perfugia?” he asked when the young man finally reached them.
Lukys was puffing so hard he only managed a nod by way of answer. Uncaring for the mud, he threw the pack down near Cara and started rummaging around inside. When he rose again, he held several rods of copper and a handful of dried herbs. He handed them to Romaine before pulling out a pack of bandages.
Cara flinched as he turned towards her, and he paused, glancing uncertainly at Romaine.
“Only the arm,” Cara whispered, drawing the recruit’s attention back to her. She lifted the offending limb, as though it were an offering for some sacrifice.
Lukys still hesitated, his eyes on Romaine. The axeman shrugged. “She doesn’t like to be touched.”
Understanding blossomed in the recruit’s eyes. “I’ll try to be careful,” he murmured.
He gestured for Cara to seat herself on the barrel, then waited until she was comfortable before moving alongside her. Taking the dried herbs from Romaine, he plucked a flower from the tip of one and offered it to Cara.
“For the pain,” he explained. “Chew, but don’t swallow, or you won’t be able to taste food for a week.”
“No,” the young woman replied, shaking her head.
Lukys raised an eyebrow. “This…is going to hurt. I need to check whether the bone is set right.”
“Thank you,” Cara said shortly, “but I can handle the pain.”
The lad hesitated a moment longer than was wise, but when Cara still made no move to accept his offering, he finally relinquished. Romaine sat back on his barrel as Lukys took Cara’s arm in his hands once more.
Her face immediately lost the last of its colour, though this time Romaine wasn’t sure whether it was from pain or fear.
With meticulous care, Lukys peeled back the sleeves of her coat once more. “Is this okay?” he asked, placing a finger on the injury.
Cara flinched, and her lips drew back in a snarl. Romaine expected the young Perfugian to retreat in fear, but curiously he stood his ground, brown eyes fixed on his patient. Cara’s breath came in short gasps and Romaine feared she was working herself into a panic, but finally she gave a short nod.
Permission granted, Lukys moved his hands softly over the purpled flesh, fingers prodding gently at the bone beneath. Pain flickered on the young woman’s face and her jaw remained clenched, though she did not let out even a squeak to show her pain.
“Okay, it’s only broken in one place,” Lukys said finally, straightening to look her in the eye. “You were lucky.”
Cara’s face was still pale, but she offered a fleeting smile. “I’ll remind you of that next time you break something.”
“That’s fair,” Lukys chuckled.
With his hands at work, he seemed more relaxed than earlier. Taking the copper rods from Romaine, he lined them up with her arm.
“Could you hold these here for me?” he asked, flashing his patient a smile.
The grimace had returned to Cara’s face with his touch, but she did as he bid. Lukys placed his fingers back on her arm, and then hesitated.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like the—”
“Just do it,” Cara practically snarled.
“Ahh, okay,” Lukys said, and pressed his fingers to her wrist.
A shrill keen sounded from the back of Cara’s throat as she arched atop the barrel. For a second, Romaine thought she would strike the young man. Veins bulging on her forehead, she clung to the copper rod.
Then it must have been done, for Lukys was removing his hands. Cara let out a short exhalation as the tension fled her body. Her shoulders rose and fell in rapid succession beneath the heavy cloak, her breathing short. Gently, Lukys took the rod from her hands and moved it back into alignment with her newly set arm. Taking up the bandages, he wrapped several layers around the rod before adding a second rod, then finally a third, until Cara’s arm seemed twice the size as normal.
“There!” he exclaimed finally. “Done!”
Cara sat back with a sigh, though her face still showed her tension. “Thank you,” she murmured. She sounded faint, and worried the woman might collapse, Romaine stepped closer. She waved him back, curious eyes turning on Lukys. “How did you learn to do something like that?”
Lukys only shrugged. “Like I said, the academy.”
“An academy.” She said the word as though tasting it.
“We all go,” Lukys murmured, becoming self-conscious again now that the job was done. He lowered his eyes. “But like I said, I failed.”
“Oh…” Cara deflated. She clutched her arm to her chest for a moment, before her head came up again. “But you seem so good at this!”
Lukys scratched a spot of dried mud from his tunic, looking away. “I…well…” His cheeks grew red, standing in stark contrast to her paleness. “I throw up when I see vomit.” The words came from his mouth in a rush.
Laughter burst from Romaine’s lips before he could keep himself silent. The recruit’s head snapped around, anger touching his brow. Rising from his barrel, Romaine clapped him on the shoulder.
“All got our weaknesses, lad.”
“Some of us have a few more than others,” Lukys replied, his eyes drifting out across the mudflats.
Pity welled in Romaine’s stomach and he saw again the eyes of another young man, staring up at him from the snow, terror in their murky depths. Romaine quickly shoved the memory away. He couldn’t afford such sentiment out here, not with the Tangata gathering. He wouldn’t survive losing anybody else.
“Romaine.” The young man’s voice was taut as he spoke, his eyes still fixed in the distance.
Following his gaze, Romaine saw that the pyres had almost burned out, though there were still shapes amidst the embers…
“I don’t want to die here.”
That makes one of us.
Romaine said nothing. Faces flashed before his eyes, of those he’d lost, of those he hadn’t been able to save, all the way back to that night ten years before…
“The general won’t train us. He says we’re not worth the time. I…I won’t last another battle against those things, not without help.”
No, no, no!
“Please, I saw you fight. You’re a warrior, a great one. Please, Romaine, will you train me?”
No.
It was a fool’s request. Even had Romaine been inclined, General Curtis was right. He usually was. It took months to turn an untrained recruit into a soldier—and based on the night’s assault, they might not even have a week before the true Tangatan army reached the frontier.
He let out a long sigh, readying himself to spurn the man’s request, to crush this last hope before it could catch light. He faced the young recruit.
“Meet me here tomorrow, at first light.” The words leapt unbidden from his mouth. “And we’ll see whether there’s hope for you yet.”
Darkness.
A full moon over silent peaks. Rock and snow and cold.
Light flashing, a shadow in the night, the hiss of an inhaled breath.
Pounding, the racing of a fleeing heart, the panting of pursuers.
Cold, rushing water, fire and flames, shouts in the night.
Loss, failure, death!
Lukys gasped as he snapped awake, sitting bolt upright in his cot—
Crack.
Cursing, he crumpled back into the tangle of blankets, head ringing from the blow he’d struck against the bunk above. Somewhere in the dark, the other recruits grumbled and muttered dire warnings against disturbing their slumber. Outside, a rooster crowed.
Holding a hand to his chest, Lukys tried to slow his racing heart. Already the dream was fading. The rooster crowed again. Beyond the heavy shutters, night still clung to the city. He needed to rise, to stumble out into the cold and meet with the bearded warrior of Calafe.
The thought did not fill him with excitement. By the faint glimmer of a shuttered lamp he could see his breath misting on the air above him. It would be worse outside the dormitory. Surely he could lie here a little longer.
But no, Romaine had said the hour before dawn.
Stifling another moan, he pushed himself up more carefully and swung out the bed. It was a drop of two feet to the ground. The bunks were three-tiered, and being one of the last to the barracks, he’d been left with one of the middle beds.
Unable to light a lamp, he fumbled in the dark for his clothes and quickly dressed himself in every layer he could find. The muttering began again but Lukys ignored it. There was little he could do about the noise. He continued collecting his gear and was just pulling on his chainmail vest when a rough hand grasped him by the shoulder and spun him around.
“What the Fall do you think you’re doing, peasant?” Dale spat.
Eyes wide, Lukys found himself staring up at the larger man. Dale’s lips were drawn back into a snarl and he looked ready to throw Lukys through the window. He quickly tore himself loose and raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Voices rose at the commotion and movement came from nearby beds as the other recruits woke.
“Sorry!” Lukys whispered, trying to get away from Dale.
Across the room, someone unshuttered the lantern, allowing a flicker of light to illuminate the scene. Dale’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Lukys fully dressed, though he hadn’t quite managed to get the chainmail into place.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled. He gestured around the room, though most of the recruits looked like they’d rather be asleep. “Look, brothers, sisters, the peasant shows his true colours! The coward seeks to flee!”
Anger touched Lukys at the recruit’s words, washing away his fatigue. He stepped up to confront the man, though Dale was several inches taller.
“Strange,” Lukys said, keeping his voice soft. “I did not see you atop the wall, Dale. Where were you, when the Tangata came?”
A flicker passed across Dale’s face and for a moment he did not seem able to reply. Lukys spoke into the silence:
“I’m no coward,” he said softly, addressing the others in the room now. Thirty-seven of their number had survived the battle. “The rest of you can accept your fate, but not me. I won’t let them throw away my life like yesterday’s garbage.”
“So you are a deserter,” Dale snarled.
“No.” Lukys flicked his eyes back to the recruit. “I’m going to train.”
Dale sneered. “Who would train a runt like you?”
“A Calafe warrior,” Lukys snapped.
With that he spun and strode to the door. A cold breeze swirled into the room as he yanked it open. He snatched a spear from the weapons closet beside the entrance, then stepped out into the darkness and slammed the door behind him.
There he paused, half thinking Dale would follow to continue the fight. But no one appeared, and after only a moment’s stillness he found his teeth beginning to chatter. A faint glow lit the sky pink and he saw now that fresh snow had fallen during the night. It crunched beneath his boots as he started down the alleyway, making for the section of wall he had first met Cara and Romaine.
Romaine had said to meet there, and judging by the light in the sky, he was already late. He picked up the pace, but the cold had frozen the earth solid, making it precarious to go faster than a walk. Even then, he had added more than a few bruises to his already aching body by the time he found himself standing in the shadow of the palisade.
There was no one there.
Cursing, Lukys hugged his chest and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Where was the axeman? The dawn was still and the cold wind cut like knives through even his heavy coat. Had this all been some prank, some act at Lukys’s expense?
His legs were just beginning to go numb when the crunch of footsteps came from overhead. The Calafe warrior appeared, jogging along the tops of the ramparts. He wore his full chainmail armour and the giant butterfly axe hung from a sheath on his back. The man lifted a hand in greeting.
“You’re late, recruit,” the axeman called down.
Lukys’s face grew warm but when he opened his mouth to offer an excuse, Romaine only laughed.
“Relax, lad. Why don’t you get on up here? View’s better from the top.”
Nodding, Lukys started up, but soon found the task more difficult than it appeared. With the earth frozen, the mound was now slick beneath his feet and he had to dig the toes of his boots into the earth with each step. Fortunately, he was able to use the butt of his spear for balance. He was puffing hard by the time he reached the top, but couldn’t help but grin when he looked around at the Calafe warrior.
Romaine laughed, gesturing away to the side. “When it’s frozen, we generally use the stairs.”
Following the man’s indication, Lukys groaned when he saw the makeshift steps that had been cut into the earthen rampart a few yards away. He looked into the distance and saw they repeated at regular intervals. How had he missed them earlier?
“Come,” Romaine said, turning towards the wooden spikes that topped the wall, pointing towards the river.
Beyond, the sky had turned from pink to scarlet, the rising sun setting the distant mountains aflame. Looking upon those towering peaks, Lukys could almost imagine that time all those centuries ago, when the Gods had rained their fury down upon humanity. The conflagration had destroyed humanity’s ancestors, reducing them to little more than animals, scavenging in the remnants of their former greatness. Only pockets of civilisation had survived—places such as the noble city of Ashura, guarded by the open seas.
Lukys glanced at Romaine, but the Calafe’s eyes were not on the mountains. The warrior looked out across the river, and though a light mist clung to the waters, obscuring their view, Lukys sensed the man’s mind was on the distant lands to the south.
“Do you miss it?” Lukys asked softly. “Your home, I mean?”
A rumble that might have been laughter came from the warrior. “I miss many things, lad,” he said, then gestured to the river. “But time, like the Illmoor there, flows on whether we like it or not. Can’t go back. If you fight the current, you die. So best just go along for the ride.”
“Unless you have a ship,” Lukys replied.
Romaine shot him a glare and Lukys’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
“So,” the warrior said, shaking his head. “What did they teach you in that academy of yours? About war and that spear of yours?”
“Not much,” Lukys murmured. “I thought we would be trained when we arrived here, but…” He shrugged, not wanting to linger on the general’s words.
“Good,” Romaine grunted. Lukys gave him a sharp look and the Calafe grinned. “Means I shouldn’t have to beat any bad habits out of you.” His eyes flickered to the spear Lukys held awkwardly at his side. “Why don’t you have a go at me with that thing?”
“What?” Lukys gasped, eyes widening. He glanced at the spear, its razor-sharp point shining in the sunlight, then back to Romaine. “I could hurt you.”
Romaine chuckled. “I doubt that very much.”
“You don’t even have a weapon!”
A smile crossed the Calafe’s face, and calmly he lifted the massive axe from his shoulders. Ice spread through Lukys’s veins as the warrior shifted into a fighting stance. He clutched the spear in front of him, thinking of that axe flying at his face. The point of his spear began to shake.
Laughter boomed across the wall, and then Romaine was driving the head of his axe into the frozen earth.
“By the Gods, lad, you look like you might die of fright.” He shook his head. “Was a joke. Come, most of the Tangata don’t have weapons either. Let’s see if you can hit me with that thing.”
“I…”
Lukys stared at the man. Romaine’s hands were empty now. Steel chainmail protected his chest and caked leather gauntlets his arms, but Lukys still couldn’t help but fear he might harm the warrior. But he’d been given an order, and gripping the spear in two hands, he thrust out half-heartedly at the axeman.
Romaine moved calmly to the side and batted out with one arm, sending the spear careening into the earth. The shock of the weapon striking ground was almost enough to jar it from Lukys’s hands. He opened his mouth to protest, but yelped instead as Romaine leapt and struck at him with an open palm.
Even through his chainmail and heavy furs, the blow to his chest sent Lukys staggering back. The breath hissed between his teeth and he doubled up around the spear. For once he managed to keep his footing, but as Lukys straightened he saw Romaine coming again, face dark, unreadable.
In terror, Lukys thrust out with his spear. A cry left his lips as he realised what he’d done, but it was too late. Romaine moved faster than thought, his arm flashing down to deflect the attack, and he narrowly avoided being skewered by the spearhead. Lukys flinched as the warrior straightened, but Romaine only chuckled and stepped away.
“Well, you’re quick, I’ll grant you that lad,” he said, “but you’re also right. You don’t know much about spear work.”
Lukys lowered his eyes and clutched the offending weapon to his chest. Despair touched him as he saw himself on the ground once more, the Tangata standing over him, that awful chant ringing in his mind.
Death, death, death.
He began to shake. That image had haunted him through the night. It was only a matter of time before the creatures returned. How could he ever hope to face such monsters?
“It’s useless,” he whispered, voice bitter. “It’s too late. That general is right. I’ll never learn. May as well just go back to my bed. Least it’s warm there.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Romaine rumbled. “Might be I’m wasting my time. After all, you’re only a Perfugian.”
Lukys’s head snapped up, but the angry words died on his tongue as he saw the humour in Romaine’s eyes. Grinning, the warrior crossed to one of the water barrels and sat, gesturing for Lukys to join him.
“You can quit if you like, lad,” he said as Lukys lowered himself down. “The Gods know, you’ve drawn the short stick in this bloody frontier.” He paused, steel-blue eyes flickering. “But don’t quit because of what some old bugger told you. Even if that bugger is a legend. This is war, not bloody architecture. Anyone can learn to hold a spear, if he's determined, if he puts his heart into it.”
“You don’t really believe that,” Lukys muttered.
“Oh?” Romaine rumbled. “You think I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart then?”
Lukys hesitated. Why was Romaine doing this? He glanced at the grizzled warrior but found himself unable to ask the question. A sigh slipped from his lips and his gaze flickered in the direction of the hills. Two of the recruits had disappeared during the battle, but their bodies hadn’t been found. Lukys was sure they’d taken advantage of the carnage to flee. If so, they wouldn’t get far. The world was at war, and deserters were not treated kindly.
That only left one choice: Learn to fight.
“Okay, Romaine,” he said, dragging his spirits from the chasm of despair. “I’ll do my best.”
The warrior grinned. “Don’t look so glum, lad. This is going to be fun. Now, why don’t you take a lap around the walls while I get a few things ready?”
“You want me to walk around the city?”
“I want you to run,” Romaine corrected. “First rule of combat—be fitter than the other man.”
“But the Tangata aren’t…”
Lukys trailed off as he caught Romaine’s blue eyes glaring at him. He hesitated, mouth still half-open, until Romaine reached down and plucked his axe from the mud.
Hefting his spear, Lukys ran.
Striding through the scarlet halls of the royal citadel, Erika struggled to keep the apprehension from her face. The queen’s steward walked ahead, while two of the royal guards trailed her on either side, as though they feared she would flee. Their presence made her nervous, with their shining swords and impenetrable helms, and it was with an effort of will that she forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings.
Like the rest of the city, the citadel had a certain practicality to its construction. The plain sandstone blocks did little to assuage the eye and the few windows were squat and high in the walls, allowing sunlight to enter while still keeping out the undesirable. Such designs stemmed from earlier ages, when Flumeer had been a collection of warring tribes rather than a united kingdom.
Even the layout of the corridors had been designed with defence in mind, winding inwards and upwards in a spiral pattern. An assailant would have to circumnavigate the building several times to reach the queen’s quarters at the centre. In places, windows in the inner loops of the spiral looked down on the outer corridors, allowing defenders to fire down upon their attackers from a sheltered position.
They passed through several gates, each defended by another squadron of the royal guard, before sandstone walls gave way to marble. From there, they moved quickly through a series of courtyards, most empty on this cold winter afternoon, until finally they entered the inner palace.
Erika’s heart began to race as she suddenly found herself before the golden doors of the royal court. They stood closed, their precious surface studded with gems and platinum decorations. Of all the passages they had passed, here alone had no thought been given to defence. Grand windows of stained glass turned the light in the corridor to red and green and blue, and not one guard had been left at the entrance to the court.
The queen’s steward turned towards her. His face remained carefully schooled, though Erika could read the disdain in his eyes. He thought her a liar, that she had failed once again to claim the powers of the Gods and came now to beg for further clemency. A tingling came from her fingers, as though the gauntlet yearned to be used. She fought the temptation.
“I am ready, steward,” she said to his unspoken question.
He spoke no further, only turned and pushed open the golden doors.
The buzz of voices ensued as she followed him into the chamber, though they died away as the queen’s steward marched towards the throne. Row upon row of chairs stretched upward in tiers from the chamber floor, packed with the Flumeeren elite. Erika’s legs turned to lead as she sensed their eyes upon her, but it was too late to turn back. She heard her name called through the ringing in her ears. Turning, she saw the steward raising his arm.
“…Archivist to the queen, here with urgent news for the war,” he finished, meeting her eyes from across the room. Erika could have sworn his neutral expression broke for half a second, revealing a mocking smile.
A hundred voices erupted from all around, echoing from the domed ceiling high above and ringing across the chamber, almost deafening. Erika felt her legs retreat a step and had to force herself to stand still, to endure. Behind her, the guards who had escorted her this far stood at attention beside the doors, barring her escape.
Steeling herself, Erika ignored the councillors and nobles that surrounded her and stepped up beside the steward. Across the floor of the chamber was a small dais. There were none of the decorations and grandeur of the palace here. The queen sat upon a simple wooden chair, legs crossed and fingers steepled, her emerald eyes on the crowd of nobles above.
Stranger, though, than the woman’s plain surroundings, was the full suit of armour Queen Amina had donned. Plain steel covered the woman from her boots to her chest. Only the helm was missing, revealing shining auburn hair and a copper circlet upon her brow. The queen was only thirty-five, barely ten years her senior, but she carried herself with a poise Erika could only imagine. She wore a longsword at her side, and the crimson scar on her left cheek proved she knew how to use it. Indeed, she was not hailed as a warrior queen for nothing.
The sight of the queen in steel gave Erika pause. Amina only wore her armour during times of war. Had something changed on the frontier while she’d been away? Erika’s heart quickened. If the Tangata had firmed their hold on northern Calafe, her plans to visit the ancient site were already doomed. But it was too late to change tactics now.
“Your Majesty,” she said over the cacophony of voices in the chamber. “I bring a message of hope.”
“My Archivist,” the queen murmured. Eyes as hard as gemstones regarded Erika from across the room. “Pray, tell me you have brought more than just hopeful words.”
“Of course!” Erika exclaimed, her voice rising to an undignified tone. She swallowed, regaining control of herself before going on. “I would not have returned so quickly had my quest not found success.”
The queen seemed to consider her words. Then her eyes flickered, as though searching for someone else on the chamber floor. Her lips tightened to a frown. “Then where are the good assistants I sent with you?”
Erika hesitated. “I…” She bowed her head. “Alas, the noble Ibran fell,” she replied. “And Sythe…was a traitor.”
The room erupted at her words, the entire court of two hundred nobles leaping to their feet and shouting their disdain. Erika flinched at the discordance, but did not look away from the queen. The woman had not reacted to the news, though now she slowly came to her feet and raised a hand. Silence fell. Not even the nobles of Flumeer wanted to risk the queen’s displeasure.
“A traitor?” she murmured.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Erika replied, bowing her head. “He killed Ibran, and tried to claim the treasure we discovered beneath the earth. For the King of Gemaho.”
This time not one of the nobles said a word, though the revelation was even more scandalous than her earlier news. The queen was still on her feet.
“I see,” the woman murmured, eyes fixed on Erika. “Yet you escaped?”
Erika swallowed, hearing the accusation in her voice, and drew herself up. “I did,” she said. “I was determined to keep our discovery from the hands of the Gemahan.”
“And what did you discover down there in the dark, Archivist?”
“A map, Your Majesty!” Erika replied, drawing the scroll from her pocket. The queen’s brows lifted into her auburn locks. Swallowing, Erika quickly went on: “It compiles the ancient sites of the Gods, many yet undiscovered, untouched since the time before The Fall. It was discovered in a sealed room. I believe these other sites might be the same. If so, the treasures within, the magics…this is what the King of Gemaho wanted!” She finished in a rush, cheeks warm, heart racing in her excitement.
The queen did not move from where she stood. She regarded Erika in silence, one eyebrow still raised, iron arms folded across her chest.
“A map?” she said at last. Her voice did not share Erika’s excitement. She lowered herself down into the wooden chair. “And where are these sites with their precious treasures?”
“Calafe!” Erika gasped. “In the northern region, there is a site just a few days south of the Illmoor. If we move quickly, I could recover its secrets with a single regiment. Just think, Your Majesty, the power that waits, enough to conquer nations, to destroy the Tangata for good!”
“I see,” the queen murmured, tapping idly at the wooden arms of her chair. “Was that not what you promised before this latest venture?”
“I…” Erika trailed off, the words lodging in her throat.
“A venture which cost two persons of some prestige,” the queen went on, her voice cold enough to send shivers down Erika’s spine. “And now…now you ask for an entire regiment? Do you not realise, child, that the Tangata sit on our very doorstep?”
Murmurs spread around the hall, though this time the nobles did not seem angry. They could sense the blood in the water, the rage lurking beneath the queen’s measured voice. So instead they watched, waiting for the kill.
“The map was not all I found!” Erika shrieked.
Why had she not mentioned the gauntlet first? Because…because it was hers. Her secret, her weapon, the only thing that had kept her alive down there in the darkness. She didn’t want to share this discovery with the queen. Yet neither could she allow the murmuring around the chamber to continue, to allow herself to be condemned.
“Oh?” the queen asked. She made no effort to conceal the scepticism in her voice.
“Does Your Majesty still keep any of the Tangata captive here in the citadel?” Erika asked, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice.
Images flashed through her mind, of bronzed faces behind bars, of awful screams, of eyes dripping with hatred and rage.
“There is one that survives,” Queen Amina replied.
“Bring it,” Erika ordered, attempting to project confidence, before adding: “Should it please Your Majesty.”
The queen regarded her for a long moment. Then the hint of a smile touched the queen’s lips and she nodded. The two guards stationed at the doors turned and vanished into the corridor, presumably to retrieve the captive Tangata.
Sweat dripped down Erika’s brow as she stood watching those golden doors, feeling the eyes of the entire court upon her. A lump lodged in her throat and she squeezed her fist tight.
What was she doing? Would the gauntlet even work on one of the Tangata? Could she even make it work? She still had not practiced with that ability…
Hinges squeaked as the doors swung open again, admitting the guards back onto the chamber floor. But they were no longer alone. A third figure stood between them, arms and legs chained, face streaked with filth, clothes in tatters.
Grey eyes staring.
Erika shivered as she looked into those eyes and saw…nothing. A frown touched her forehead. When she’d last been in the capital, the queen had paraded the creatures regularly before the court. Then, the rage that lurked within these creatures had been obvious, their hatred a raw, animalistic thing. But with this creature…its eyes showed only emptiness, only defeat.
“Well, Archivist?”
Erika swallowed, glancing back at the queen. Drawing in a lungful of air, she raised her gauntleted fist. “I found this in the ruins of the Gods,” she said softly.
“A glove?” the queen murmured archly.
“No,” Erika said shortly. She turned her back on the queen and faced the wretched Tangata. “My Queen, let me show you the power of the Gods.”
She didn’t wait for permission. Stepping up before the beast, she lifted the gauntlet. The Tangata’s head bobbed at the movement, its eyes slowly coming into focus, fixing on her. It made no move to attack, though the guards held its chains tight all the same. Erika hesitated, sensing the beast’s despair.
Whispers spread around the room as the moment stretched out. Erika could sense her audience’s impatience. She had promised them magic; if she failed now…
Erika opened her fist and pointed her palm at the Tangata.
The screams began.
The beast took long minutes to die. By the time it fell silent, not a soul in the throne room moved. A terrible silence hung over the chamber as Erika stood over the Tangata, looking down at its tormented face. Blood stained its cheeks and turned its eyes red. It had died in agony.
It was a monster. It would have killed you if it could have.
Releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, she turned to face the queen. Steel rattled as the royal guards moved between them. They were wary of her now, frightened by the power she had revealed, but the queen waved them back. Rising, she stepped from the dais and moved to stand before Erika.
“You have done well, Archivist,” the queen said. Then she held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
Erika swallowed, but met the woman’s eyes. “Alas, My Queen, I cannot. The gauntlet has fused to my flesh. Its power is a part of me now. But…grant me my request, and I will find you more objects of power, perhaps even greater than this one.”
The queen stared at her for a long while, but finally she nodded, and a smile touched her lips. “Very well,” she murmured. “You have done well, Archivist. You will have your regiment.”
Erika’s heart was thundering in her ears and she hardly heard the queen’s words. She felt suddenly drained, as though she had just sprinted the length of the city. Was that the gauntlet, or simply the rush of the moment? Hardly knowing how to react, she bowed her head in acceptance.
“You will leave with the dawn,” the queen continued. With that she turned and returned to the dais. Only when she reached her throne did she hesitate. Slowly, the woman turned to face Erika once more. “And Archivist?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” Erika asked, her head jerking up.
“This will be your last expedition,” the queen said. Her eyes narrowed. “Do not fail me, or one way or another, I will have that magic.”
The ice in her words left Erika in no doubt as to how she would claim it.
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