Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn (37 page)

The crowd seemed indifferent, unfazed by her predictions of death but she continued just the same. “What I ask of you now, I realize, is a great sacrifice, one that I have no right to ask. But I give you my word. If you trust me, when this war has ended, I will make things right for you. I will give you everything you have now and more. Your children will have education. Your families will have food, and clothes, and all of the things you need to live a peaceful existence. But more importantly, if you do as I ask, I can give you life.”

The Gildonese climbed onto the stage with one fluid step. He addressed the people again. “These words may sound straightforward coming from what I could only imagine is a serpent’s tongue, though I have not seen it to confirm for myself, but we must keep in mind that she is after all Epertasian and surely there is more to her promise than simply saving us poor, pathetic Lowlanders.”

There was no easy way to say what needed to be said next so she blurted, “I am asking you to abandon your homes forever and live in peace in Epertase.”

The crowd didn’t react. Not a moan, not a boo, nothing. She could have told them it may rain tomorrow and received the same response.

The Gildonese grinned. “Lowlanders, again I have told you no lie, as the true desire of this Queen has now been presented to you.” He glared at her, “If your ancestors were unable to dupe us into rejoining the mighty Epertase, then why do you think we will up and move for you? We are quite capable of self-defense, as our ongoing freedom from your tyrannical empire clearly proves.”

“Good sir, we have not shown aggression toward you for many years, if ever.” She directed her attention back to the crowd. “I do not expect you to leave your homes for me. Indeed, I do hope that you are willing to help us in our time of need. But be aware of and take this into consideration: Our survival will directly affect your survival. I do not expect you to do this for me, I expect you to do this for yourselves, for your children.” She pointed west. “That smoke you have gone to bed to each night and awoken to each of the last few mornings, the very smoke that draws nearer each passing day, that, my friends, is Lithia. And tonight she burns.”

Their faces remained stoic and she couldn’t fathom why.

Alina walked to the edge of the stage and scanned the lifeless crowd. “We can win this war.”

The Gildonese turned to the docile crowd and back to her. “They have made their decision for you to leave and never return.”

“What kind of spell do you hold over these people?”

He smiled but didn’t answer.

Alina huffed to the back of the stage, where she was met by Terik. He helped her down. She whispered, “All that can be done is return home and watch for the convoy of Lowlanders to arrive.”

“And if they do not leave? What are my orders?”

Her chest, more specifically her heart, twanged. “Oh, Terik, I believe they will do what is necessary. If they do not, we will be forced to alter our plans.”

“That will prove fatal to Rasi’s overall strategy.”

“What choice do I have, Terik?”

His answer was cold like a good soldier’s should be. “In war, sacrifices need to be made.”

She lowered her brow, at first in wonder, then in anger. “I will not be the death of these people. That is not how Epertase behaves. These people will leave, I have faith. Or else they will fight.”

“And they will die.”

“But not at our hands.”

“Very well, your Highness.”

She had done her best and in that she took solace. She mounted Allusia and prepared to leave.

“Lady?” the Gildonese’s voice squeaked from behind. “A moment of your time?”

“I think we are quite finished here, sir,” she responded without as much as a glance in his direction.

“I do believe you will want to hear what I have to say.” Alina was surprised to turn and find the Gildonese’s eyes level with her own even as he stood and she was on horseback.

Masera crowded his horse between the two. Another horseback soldier moved behind the Lowlander. “Move along,” Masera ordered. “She is finished with you.”

The Gildonese looked hatefully at Masera, then the other guard. He lifted his arms and whipped them outward. Though they flowed with the speed and effort of a slow moving wave, Masera was unable to react. They struck his and the other soldier’s chests, knocking them violently from their horses.

Masera bounced to his feet but Alina waved her hand, halting him. “Easy, Masera, I will hear him out. Lowlander, you have my attention, but my patience is thin.”

He bowed his head forward as if humbled and muttered, “Alone.”

Alina struggled with how to answer.

Then he added a subtle “Please?” which didn’t help his cause.

Masera was agitated and antsy; she saw it on his face as he climbed back onto his horse. He needed to understand that, although he was thirsty for battle, this was their only chance to save these people and he would have to restrain himself if for no other reason than that.

“Very well, you have a moment,” she said.

Masera moved forward, part of his sword exposed. “My Queen, I do not trust this scoundrel. I do not think it is wise for you to be alone with him.”

The Gildonese said, “I understand your reserve, good soldier, and I assure you of her safety and would be quite happy to leave my weaponry here with you while we remain in your line of sight. I will keep ample space between the dear Queen and myself if it so pleases you.”

Alina waved off her friend as the Gildonese lowered his sword to the ground. Masera turned and nodded to one of his men, who then hopped from his horse, readied his bow, and trained an arrow on his target. Masera leaned into the archer’s ear and whispered, “If he moves toward her or reaches for his boot, even for a quick scratch, put one through his heart!”

“Understood, sir.”

Allusia and Alina clopped forward with the Gildonese alongside. They stopped a few shops away.

“What do you want?” Alina asked.

“King Fice, Ruler of the Lowlands, has sent a message.”

“We do not recognize your King Fice any more than we recognize you as a negotiator.”

“That may be, but the people here do and that is what matters if you are to succeed in your phony attempts at concern.”

“Very well. What does Fice have to say?”

“He is concerned about losing his power and wealth if he follows your request and would like some kind of …”

She interrupted, “He will lose his life if he does not.”

“That may be true, but the Great King Fice would gladly sacrifice his people before he sacrifices his power and he …”

Alina bit her lower lip. “Where are we going with this?”

“It is simple. He only wants your guarantee that he will be restored as leader of the Lowlands when this war is over and not be interfered with by Epertasian royalty.”

“Or else w …”

His voice cracked, “I am not finished. King Fice also requires a servant’s room full of gold and silver, for his troubles. Before you answer, understand these are not requests but demands that you will surely accept if you do truly care for these people, as you seem to insist that you do, though I do not understand why.”

“I do not respond to bribery.”

“Then you will cause many to die.”

Alina was silent and then asked, “You will evacuate tonight?”

The stranger grinned, “But, of course.”

She pondered for a moment, then nodded once, yanked at Allusia’s mane, and returned to the others.

The Gildonese walked away, leaving his sword behind.

“Is all well, your highness?” Masera asked as she neared.

“Everything is fine. Let’s head for home.” She rode next to Terik and placed her hand on his shoulder. “The plan is in motion. Be safe, my friend, and I will see you soon.”

“I will put the Tek cowards into the ground, Queen.”

She knew he would do his best.

“We shall part ways now,” he said.

“Yes, Terik, I am afraid so. You be safe and fight hard.”

She wondered if this would be the last time she saw her loyal friend.

A teenage boy passed. Alina reached for him. “Young boy?”

He stopped and looked curiously at her.

Alina pointed at the Gildonese as he disappeared into the distance. “Who is that tall man?” she asked.

He looked at her like she had just asked what her own name was. “Why that’s King Fice, of course,” he said and then made his way to the “Hore Hous.”

I will remember you, Fice.

Simcane arrived at the burned-out house of worship in Pataska where he was to meet his new team. He was a day early. His first task was to start a fire, which he did with some japsy weed and scrap tree limbs. His stomach rumbled and his thighs and lower back throbbed from the long trip. Though he hid his soreness from Alina, the symbiot battle indeed left him broken as he seemed to heal much slower as he aged.

He opened his pack and removed a vegetable stick and a pan. With a cloth around the handle, he shoved the pan and his vegetable stick into the fire, where it melted into a gooey paste. He spread the paste onto a torn chunk of rye bread before devouring it. He entered the abandoned house.
Tomorrow I will hunt a real meal,
he thought as he lay down on the cold, warped, hardwood floor. Within moments he was dreaming.

As was his habit since long before the Heathen War, he woke before the suns could rise. He stretched away some of the kinks though a few would take most of the morning to fade. His knotted gut let him know it wasn’t pleased with its lack of alcohol as of late.

As he stepped out of the worship house, he felt a slight tug of guilt, for it had been many years since he had willingly visited one. Maybe the gods would understand at the final judgment. Maybe they wouldn’t. Who was he to say? The pre-dawn morning was brisk. Though the southern suns had yet to break the horizon, their glow melded with the shadowed lumps of faraway clouds.

The peacefulness of the land made him wonder what life would be like if he had simply said “Damn the mission,” and lived the rest of his days with nature as his companion. But he quickly pushed those desires aside. What kind of man would he be to entertain such thoughts with any kind of seriousness?

The trees of the Boke Forest seemed to call him; he made his way over to them. Day-old deer droppings lay at the edge of the forest. He squished them between his fingers.
Fresh.
The tree line was the perfect setting for his early hunt. He hoisted himself onto a sturdy branch, and then another until he was high enough to wait for the owner of the droppings to return.

The dew hadn’t yet lifted when his prize came into sight.

Though small, only a doe, its meat would be tasty just the same. The doe was jumpy as it emerged from the trees and cautiously sniffed the grass.

Simcane waited.

The doe stopped a few trees away, jerking its head up. Did it hear him? No, it couldn’t have. Simcane held his breath. When the doe felt safe again it continued its graze.

Closer and closer. Until it was beneath Simcane’s perch.

Almost there. A little more.

The doe twitched its ears again and lifted its head.

Simcane pounced from his branch. The doe flinched and then darted from beneath him. He thudded onto his hands and knees at the base of the tree, empty-handed and still hungry. No way had the doe heard him. He had been a skilled hunter since his father taught him as a young child and his stalk was perfect, he was sure. He dusted himself off, frustrated, and turned away.

Then his questions were answered. A better, more efficient hunter had arrived. Not more than two horse-lengths away was a growling mass of teeth, claws, and hair. Simcane calculated the distance back to shelter and safety along with the speed at which he would get there and decided he wasn’t built for speed. He turned his head back to the snarling predator.

King of beasts, huh? We shall see.

“Come on, creature. Meat is meat.”

The beast leaped with a fury.

Simcane thrust his hands forward at the last possible instant, sending with them a blast of air against the creature’s chest and head. The lion yelped, more stunned than hurt, and landed on its back. Simcane dove onto it before it could roll to its feet. The beast kicked, slicing Simcane’s chest with its deadly rear claw. Simcane squeezed his powerful arms around the creature’s neck as it scrambled to its feet. The beast thrashed and bucked but could not shake the big man free. Snot and spit sprayed from its snout as Simcane squeezed with all of his strength. The fight didn’t last long. Simcane rose to his feet, victorious.

He pressed his shirt against his wounded chest, tossed his game over his shoulder, and headed back toward camp.

The first of his guests had already arrived. He was a strange-looking fellow who sat as tall as a normal man stood.

As Simcane approached, mindful of making enough noise to announce his arrival, the figure rose to his feet, not the least bit concerned. It was rare that Simcane had to look up to make eye contact with another.

“Gildonese?”