A New Reign Page 7

  Now it was the man’s turn to smile. He only briefly glanced at the sword at his throat. “Tell me. Who are you?”

  “We are the Warriors, sent by King Darius of Erias.”

  The man peered over Cain’s shoulder to the army. “And why would he send you?”

  “To aid your country against the andred invasion.”

  The man lowered his bow at this, an odd look in his eye. He suddenly barked a laugh. His fellows followed suit, laughing and clapping each other on the backs. The Warriors exchanged uncertain glances and lowered their weapons. The Alliance followed likewise but kept their weapons within easy reach.

  “What?” Silas cried out to the man. “What’s so damn funny?”

  The soldier’s smile dropped, and he turned to face the encroaching darkness. “You’ve been lied to. There are no andreds.”

  The Warriors looked to him dumbfounded. “What do you mean no andreds?” Silas asked, anger mounting.

  “Come with me, it’s not safe here.” He beckoned them to follow and his men moved away through the trees.

  “Not until you tell us who you are,” Cain demanded.

  The man sighed. “I’m Valerik Elric. Some call me the Whisperer, others Goose. Best don’t go calling me the latter. Bloody awful name. I am—or was—Second Captain in the Val Idris Third Scout Brigade.” He slipped off a glove and extended his hand. The Warriors shook it, giving their names in turn. “Come, my friends. My camp is just ahead. We will talk there.”

  Cain signaled for the Alliance to follow, and together, they stepped off the road. “Be prepared for a fight,” he whispered to his friends. “I don’t feel particularly trusting, especially after last night.”

  Silas hesitantly followed him into the trees. No andreds? What did that mean? The Alliance followed this small band of Inveirans through the pines and rolling hills of Inveira’s midland.

  These peculiar men seemed to glide over the rocks with expert feet. Their leathers and cloths rustled as they moved lithely through the trees, and their light gray cloaks melded with the dusk.

  Their leader turned back to the Warriors as he led them along a hillside. His short, copper hair matted wet from sweat beneath his hood. He spoke once they were well ahead of the army. His thick northern accent required concentration to understand. “There are no andreds. I don’t know what you were told but there haven’t been any. At least, not for a while. They just… disappeared. We haven’t fought Abaddon’s forces in nearly two months.”

  Aren nodded. “Scouts reported that Abaddon’s armies regrouped in Andred for the attack on Morven, but after their defeat, things have been too quiet. We haven’t seen any sight of the enemy since the siege either.”

  “Who were those men that attacked us?” Silas asked. “If they weren’t Iscara, then who were they?”

  Valerik turned to him with a frown but paused as they came to a small glade.

  Tents and cook fires covered the grass. Half a dozen men sat around the nearest fire, warming their hands as they roasted strips of venison over a spit.

  They looked up at the approaching men and hailed their fellows. Some men wore the white-trimmed plate armor of Inveiran foot soldiers, while others stuck to simple leathers or gambesons. Each bore a sword at their side and a shield over their back.

  Cain turned to Valerik. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little suspicious.” He waved a hand and several of his men dispersed through the trees. Valerik stood there in silence, waiting for the scouts to return. Eventually, they came back and whispered to Cain. He nodded, gesturing for Valerik to continue.

  “These are the famous Warriors,” Valerik flourished with a grin. “They’re here to help us with our andred infestation.” The Inveirans howled with laughter at this.

  “What’s so damn funny?” Silas barked again. Surely he was lying. The arzecs and andreds didn’t just disappear. That’d be like the trees vanishing overnight.

  “There are no andreds!” one of the soldiers chortled.

  “Don’t listen to him,” another said to Silas, “he’s an ass.” He stood and shook the Warriors’ hands. “It’s not your fault Erias has lied to its people. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “He’s right,” Valerik added. He sat on a log and took a strip of fresh-cooked meat from a nearby pan. “You shouldn’t even be here, Warriors; it’s a shame you’ve been used. I’ve heard the stories of the hope you’ve brought to people. You’d be better off dying somewhere else.”

  “It wasn’t Erias then,” Silas retorted, “it’s your bloody king that lied to us. My brother died for nothing because of him!”

  “Bullshit!” snapped a soldier. “It was Erias. Morven is nothing but a melting pot of lies and twisted politics at its best. You’re a Kaanosi, you should know better.”

  Silas stepped forward. “We fight for every country, unlike you sorry asses. We came here to help you because you can’t do it yourselves, you cowards!”

  Aren jumped in front of Silas. “He didn’t mean that!” He threw his arms out as every soldier in the camp rose. Always the mediator. Silas wanted to punch Aren sometimes.

  He shoved past his friend. “Damn right I did! You can’t do shit yourselves so your king begged us to protect you! We bled for you, yet where were you to help us at Morven? I’ll tell you where, hiding in your castles, bleeding like fresh bitches.”

  Every soldier bolted for Silas. The Warriors jumped in front of their friend.

  A shrill whistle split the forest. “Stand down, damn it!” Valerik cried. His men stopped feet away from the Warriors, every man glaring.

  Valerik walked along his line of men, spitting a slew of colorful words before ordering them back to the camp. He sighed, then waved a man over. “Double the sentries and prepare to move out. They would have heard that little debacle.” The soldier saluted and soon Valerik’s men were breaking down their camp.

  “What’s going on here?” Cain eyed the Inveirans. “What do you mean there aren’t any andreds?”

  Valerik looked up, the evening sun lighting the contours of his hairy face. “Myself and some of these men here were forward scouts for Val Idris. For two months, there were no signs of the arzecs or andreds; no attacks, no ravaged villages. Nothing. But we knew it wouldn’t last. We didn’t expect what happened, though.” His voice drew quiet.

  “One night, just after we returned from patrol, fires spread amidst the city. Men just seemed to die on their own accord. We thought it was andreds. Now, I wish it had been.”

  “What was it?” Cain asked.

  Valerik looked over his shoulder to a group of his men watching them from nearby. They shook their heads. He sighed and took a long draw from a flask. “I recognized several of them; I fought alongside many of those men for years. To know they betrayed me, betrayed our country, our people—that stings more than the wounds they left me with.

  “The city fell to the traitors. It was all we could do to escape, though our king managed to flee in time. I barely escaped with my life. We’ve searched the wilderness trying to find any stragglers, but it seems most of the survivors have already been taken prisoner. Alas, I fear this has spread beyond just the capital….”

  Silas growled at the thought. Man fighting man. Such a thing hadn’t happened in over four hundred years. The concept was so foreign. Men only fought Abaddon, anything else seemed like such a waste.

  Silence followed as they chewed his words. “So… Inveira faces civil war?” Adriel asked.

  Valerik bowed his head. “Every war is a civil war when all men are brothers.”

  This was insane. A civil war? And here they were thrown right in the middle of it. Joshua died for nothing, Silas thought.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have listened to Darius!” he cried out, stirring them from their thoughts. “Now we’re waist high in Inveira’s shit!”

  “We had to obey our orders,” Aren answered. “We didn’t have a choice. Now that we’re here, we might as well follow them.”

  “Wh
o cares about our orders?” Silas barked. “Let’s just go back to Morven where we can actually make a difference! Or bloody Kaanos and forget the Alliance.” Their soldiers began whispering nervously behind them. He didn’t care. He’d never believed in this Alliance as much as his brother had. Then, why was he still here?

  “What are your orders?” Valerik eventually asked them.

  Aren handed the man Darius’ letter. Valerik split the seal and skimmed the parchment. “We were to aid Inveira against the andred invasion,” Aren said, “though that’s apparently not going to happen now. King Darius thought that if we helped your country fight off the invasion, then your king would supply us with the troops we need to finally mount an offensive against Andred.”

  “Well then,” Valerik said with a flourish, “best get to it. We’re not going to find the rest of our army just sitting here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “With you.”

  Cain crossed his arms. “Val Idris is destroyed, your armies are dispersed, your king is lost to you. Where could we possibly go even if we wanted to?”

  “I’m not going to stand by and let those rebel bastards destroy the country I love.” Valerik gave a grim smile. “I have a plan. But first we must leave this place. It isn’t safe.”

  Silas snorted, stepping forward. “What about you? You’ve been here right under the enemy’s nose.”

  “That was before three thousand men sauntered into my camp. Tell your boys to ready up; we’ve got a long march ahead of us.”

  “What makes you think we’ll go anywhere with you?” Cain asked. “We were tasked to fight andreds, not a civil war."

  Valerik smiled again. “Because you don’t have anywhere else to go; you’re surrounded by the enemy just as much as I am. Anyway, if you help us fight, King Branim will surely give the Alliance all the support it needs.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Silas said. “We can go back to Erias. Or back home.”

  Cain shook his head. “No. I’m afraid he’s right. We don’t have the supplies to make it back to Morven, let alone Kaanos. We’re low enough as it is. Besides, someone wants us out of their hair, whether it’s Darius or this king of Inveira, or someone else. We don’t really have much of a choice; we go with Valerik, and hope we get some answers. Someone’s been lying to us, and I intend to find out who.”

  Cain stepped forward and grasped Silas’ shoulders. “Besides, don’t you want to know who attacked us?”

  Silas grunted. He’d promised to avenge Joshua. He’d find out who these people were, and he’d end them.

  Soon, Valerik’s men and the three thousand Alliance were ready for their nighttime march, weary with little sleep and bodies wrought with ache.

  “Now, let’s leave.” Valerik shouldered his rucksack. “I’m afraid this darkness may have already spread. Soon… nowhere will be safe.”

  Silas shook his head as he watched the army march past. This was crazy. No, it was suicide. He should just turn around and go home. Why was he still here then? Was it for answers? For revenge? Or was it for something else?

  I’m a bloody idiot, he thought, taking a step after the Alliance.

  The Acedens

  The three thousand marched through the waxing light of dawn. The Warriors trudged through the rocks at the front of this procession, stumbling with every weary step. Valerik beckoned them on with haste.

  The new day’s light filled the trees, suddenly released from the shade of distant mountains. Its brilliant light seared white in their tired eyes.

  “Where are you taking us?” Cain asked, tromping up beside Valerik.

  “Well,” Valerik began, “assuming our king is alive, he would’ve made for Brunein.”

  Aren stepped up beside them. “I’ve seen it on the map. Is it a port or something?”

  “Brunein is more than just a port, it’s the main stronghold for the western half of Inveira. Val Idris is—or was—the stronghold of the East. If the king survived the assault on the capital, then I’m sure that’s where he will gather our armies.

  “Brunein is impenetrable; it can only be accessed by a small valley that leads to the bay. But few people know that there’s another way to get inside,” he ended with a smile.

  “Sounds simple enough.”

  “The walk is the hard part; it’s about a fortnight’s march from here.”

  “Let’s hope your king has that kind of time,” Cain added.

  The hours passed as the three thousand marched through the rolling forests. The miles passed bleakly by with each reluctant step.

  Cain looked up at the sun-drenched treetops and inhaled. After years of looking over his shoulder, after years of bloodshed, struggle, and fear, there was only silence. It hung in the air like a crushing weight. The silence left him with his thoughts, and that was no place he wanted to spend his time. With each step, he fought to suppress the pain and rage and confusion that swelled within him.

  Who were these men who abandoned their duty to protect mankind? Why would they betray their brothers? Four hundred years of pointless war, the deaths of Eileen and his son, and now the death of Joshua. How much more destruction waited? And brought by the hands of men. Was there no end to this madness?

  They could quell this incursion, but it wouldn’t matter. Abaddon was still out there. The world would never be rid of war so long as he remained. The key to defeating him lay with Ceerocai, and yet there was no way to destroy it. Cruel irony, that.

  In this eternal spiral of war, death was the only hope for escape.

  The days passed as the Alliance continued through the heart of Inveira. They had crossed the Eraeos—the winding river that split the country in halves—by a land bridge, and now moved through the rocky hills of the west. They avoided the roads for fear of crossing more rebels, and instead allotted for the forests. However, the going was painfully slow. Some days they advanced only five miles, other days little more.

  The Warriors rode near the front of one of the formations. Cain watched the nearby Silas, who hunched in his saddle with eyes down as he rolled a tattered card between his fingers.

  Cain knew that grief all too well. The loneliness, the self-loathing. The anger.

  He couldn’t help but feel that he had led Joshua to his death. Darius wouldn’t have executed them if they disobeyed him, they were too valuable. Or perhaps too public. But Cain had accepted this task, and now two thousand men were dead because of him.

  And Joshua. He added his friend to the long list of people he’d failed.

  That man had killed Joshua with a cowardly arrow. Cain would find him. He’d get his revenge, kill him. Make him bleed slowly…

  No. He couldn’t let his anger control him. Not again. Focus on the task at hand, Cain thought. Remember what Joshua fought for.

  Silas noticed Cain’s gaze and frowned, pocketing the old card. “How much farther to Brunein?” he asked.

  “Valerik seems to think another week or so.”

  Will there even be a Brunein?” Adriel asked, looking up at the darkening sky. “How do we know it’s not been attacked? How do we know their king even made it there?”

  “She’s right,” Isroc said, eyeing the nearby Inveirans. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’re taking a huge gamble here, and I’m not a gambling man. We don’t know how far this rebellion has spread, or if they’ve taken Brunein, or even if Valerik is who he says he is.”

  “I know this is a gamble,” Cain replied, “but we don’t have much of a choice. What do you propose we do, flee through the woods and try to make it back to Morven with all these rebels around? We go to Brunein. With any luck, it will still be there.”

  They continued in silence for a time. Aren eventually reined up beside Cain. “We need to talk.” Cain nodded and the two rode up ahead of the procession.

  “Something wrong?” Cain asked as they continued through the rocks.

  “A little. Well, more than a little.” He watched the sun dip over the distant tree
s. “Look, Cain, surely you realize the gravity of the situation we’re in. We’ve been lied to.”

  “I think we all assumed as much. It’s just a matter of figuring out who.”

  Aren nodded. “We’re being used—I’m sure of it.” He looked at Cain, his bright eyes strained with unease. “I don’t know if it’s Darius, or this King of Inveira, but someone has lied to us. We came here expecting to fight the andreds, but instead we’re fighting men? We haven’t fought our own kind in over four centuries.”

  “We’ve fought men before,” Cain answered. The night at Alon Heath rose in his mind. The pillar of strange light, the first time he’d ever spilt a man’s blood. How could he forget that night?

  “I told you before though, these aren’t the Iscara. They might not even fight for Abaddon.”

  “What? Who would they fight for then?”

  Aren looked up at the growing darkness. “I think something’s happened to Abaddon.”

  Cain barked a laugh. “That’s absurd. What makes you think that?”

  “Well, he’s probably not dead at least, I don’t know. Hiding or hibernating, maybe. Abaddon pulled his armies from Tarsha for the attack on Morven. We defeated nearly all his combined forces. Maybe he’s just trying to regroup and lick his wounds. None of our scouts have reported enemy movements since. We haven’t even seen a single andred or arzec in over two months. And now we fight with our own kind? You and I both know Abaddon is the only thing keeping men from tearing at each other’s throats.”

  Cain nodded. He’d seen and done enough to know that the ties of alliance were thin indeed. “So, what are you saying?”

  “Well, it just seems strange that the moment Abaddon goes into hiding this rebellion happens. If we haven’t fought ourselves in so many centuries, why start now? The moment Abaddon slips away, these people decide to tear apart their own country? Why? It doesn’t make any sense. What could they possibly gain?”

  “The timing does seem a little strange, I suppose.”

  “Tell me,” Aren continued, “can you feel that?”