Cray shook his head in disgust. “It’s up to you, Darius. You
must lead them to follow the King’s commands.”
Darius wondered if the King actually knew that Darius would
be leading the men on their first excursion. No matter what he felt personally
for the King and politics, he couldn't deny the sentiment of pride and honor
that had swept through him since being asked to lead the King’s Elite Army. The
first commander of a new special unit of young fighters! It was what he had
always wanted. He was not a general yet, but being a commander before he was
twenty was a great start. He would lead a decisive victory in Denir!
A few hours after he returned Leandra came up to him and
offered a big hug. She told him she had been worried and didn't want to see him
leave again. She pleaded for him to take her. Darius wasn't sure of the depth
of feelings he had for Leandra. She excited him in a way that at times was
exhilarating, but he seemed to lose control over his thoughts when she was around.
He couldn't have that happen around the other men. He was their commander now.
He must be strong and not be distracted. At this point, he didn’t need another
distraction.
Darius met with Cray and a few of the other men that night
in one of the large cabins. They spread maps of the area out in front of them.
Darius traced his finger along the main routes to Denir. They talked and
planned as the candles burned down to the ends. Darius would take all two
hundred men with him. In the next few days, supplies would be put together. The
march would lead them out of the Superstition Mountains and straight down the
road towards Denir. Darius would lead the army straight into the city and stop
the Gildanian aggression.
Leandra and Darius talked once over the next two days.
Darius had been walking out of his cabin when off behind a tree he noticed Sean
and Leandra talking. They conversed in low whispers. Sean’s hands flew out in
the air around him as they appeared to be arguing.
Darius approached them. “Leandra, are you all right?”
Leandra breathed deeply and tried to compose herself. “I am
fine.” She glanced quickly at Sean and then back to Darius.
“We were just talking about things going on in Anikari,
Darius,” Sean said, looking at Leandra for confirmation.
“Oh. Yes,” Leandra agreed. “Sean was telling me about the
happenings back in Anikari.” She forced a laugh.
Darius glared at Sean, not trusting the truth of the
exchange. Without anything better to go on he nodded his head and walked away,
without saying anything more to Leandra.
The next morning the camp awoke with an excited fever. Young
men covered the open meadow, practicing their swordsmanship and restringing
their bows. A late-winter cold snap settled into the air. Everything was just
about ready for the march to Denir. The trek would take them two weeks,
depending on the weather. With the temperature dropping, they hoped to get out
before additional snow dropped to their level.
Darius climbed up onto a ridge overlooking the camp. Men
were running everywhere, churning the ground into a mix of sludge and mud. The
smell of campfires being doused hung in the air. He turned and looked south
towards Denir. The morning sun cast long shadows across the dark mountains,
turning them into mounds of fading grays and purples. Darius looked past the
tall pines and the purple mountains standing in majestic forms around him. He
looked past the rising mists clinging to the distant snowy peaks. Darius
envisioned himself peering into the city of Denir itself. He imagined his army
marching into one of the oldest cities in the Realm. He would now get to travel
and find out what was out in the Realm for him. Anticipating the honor he would
receive from the people as he rode at the head of this elite, trained army made
him smile to himself.
He breathed in and let his power flood into him. A slight
shift of focus came. Everything around him became more clear. A cold wind blew
at Darius’s back, making the tall pines sway as if to silent chords of music.
The chill clung to him and dug into his breast. He wrapped his cloak around him
more tightly, trying to shut the cold out, but it penetrated deeper.
Darius closed his eyes and took power from the cold. He
thought of the mighty wind, the drenching rain, and the numbing snow that
winter brought. He thought of the icy lakes that kept fishermen away. He
thought about the dark, foreboding clouds that took over the mountains. And he
drew strength from them.
Yes, there is strength and power in all of them
.
He thought about the King and his father and how they
continued to try and use him. There was power in anger and darkness. He finally
recognized that. He would lead and fight and win. Darius became one with the
power and pushed it back out of him with all his might. Lightning darted down
from the sky and struck the ground on the other side of camp. He was in control
of so much power he could hardly contain the force. A sharp crack of thunder
rocked the ground. The men would think it was the storm, but Darius knew
better. His power could do anything. He let it fill him to the breaking point.
He let the anger take control. It gave him so much strength.
Now he was hardened. Now he was ready for battle.
The sound of a loud, shrill whistle tore Darius from his
heady thoughts—the signal that it was time to depart. He stood for a moment,
trying to remember what had been going through his mind. He glanced back
towards the breaking camp.
Cray, a lone figure not working, stood still in his black
jacket and glared up at Darius. His facial expression was emotionless. Darius
noticed a burned tree off to the side and wondered if he had done that. Darius
noticed Cray’s eyes widen as he too looked in the same direction.
Cray gave a quick salute to show that he had seen Darius
looking in his direction, then motioned for Darius to join him. Darius walked
down off the ridge, rejuvenated and alive now. The power brought clarity to his
mind and increased awareness to his senses. He understood now what he would do.
Darius turned towards the camp and into the cold wind towards Cray. He didn't
sense the cold anymore. He only felt the raw power. All other feelings were
insignificant compared to that.
THE DUNGEON
K
elln groaned and rolled
over. The thin blanket did nothing to ease the pain of his tortured body on the
hard, rocky floor of the dungeon. The odor of stale food and urine whiffed at
his nostrils. He couldn’t keep track of how many weeks he had been in the cell,
though he surmised it was much longer than he thought, maybe even months.
Everything had become a blur of time. There were many moments he wished he were
dead. It would be easier that way.
The cell door creaked and Kelln held his eyes closed. He
couldn’t do this again. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed they would leave him
alone. Some part of his mind screamed with the absurdity of the thought. They
didn’t care if he was asleep or awake.
Two large hands hauled him up from the ground. “Open your
eyes, traitor.”
Kelln slowly opened his eyes, the right one still swollen from
last week’s beatings. He groaned out loud. One man held him on his feet, arms
behind his back. The other staring back at him gave him a wicked grin, showing
he only had half his teeth. But Kelln didn’t care about the man’s teeth; it was
the large muscles and whip he held that would inflict the damage.
“Ready to admit you were wrong and swear to the Preacher,
traitor?” the man asked.
Kelln knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. He yearned to
say yes and accept his fate as a follower of the Preacher, but some kind of
stubbornness stayed buried deep inside his injured soul. Enough that he
wouldn’t fold. At least not yet.
“Never,” Kelln said through gritted teeth.
The lash cracked across his legs and he cried out in pain.
He found no shame in showing how much it hurt. The man holding him turned him
around, with his back facing the torturer. Another lash across his back,
another across his shoulders. Pain seared through his body and tears flowed
freely from his eyes. If this day was like others, they would whip him until
barely conscious, then put salve on his wounds and allow it to barely heal over
the next few days. Then it would start all over again.
They were careful in their beatings, spreading the pain
around to different parts of the body each time. His mind receded as deep as it
could. Through the fog of delirium he noticed that the beatings had stopped and
that someone had asked him a question.
“Who were you sending messages to in Anikari?” came a
softer, yet deeper voice.
Deep in his mind he recognized the voice, and fear spread
throughout his body and mind. The Preacher. He hadn’t seen Belor’s proclaimed
leader for a while.
The Preacher stepped up and touched his hands to Kelln’s
head. Evil tendrils seemed to scour though his skull. Kelln shrieked at the
invasion. The Preacher was searching for something. Kelln tried to think of
other things, tried to stay firm, but it was becoming too hard. Finally, with a
push, the pain became too much and his head flopped forward, unconscious.
In his unconscious state he heard voices in his mind. Images
flashed through. Memories. They seemed to go backwards in time. First standing
paralyzed in front of the Realm soldier he had been told to shoot, then seeing
the Preacher speak to the growing crowds. He watched in his mind as he and
Alessandra escaped Anikari and came to Belor. Seeing her face again, even only
in his mind, made him feel longing and pain at the same time. He couldn’t
understand her. How could she do the bidding of this evil influence?
Suddenly his mind moved more rapidly back to Anikari and to
Darius. Visiting White Island and seeing the Cremelinos seemed to bring more
intense pain, and loud voices just outside his conscious reach. Someone became
angry at his memory.
The next few minutes saw him with Darius holding the sword,
and power crackling down the side of it. That brought a feeling of surprise to
whomever was forcing the memories. After going back a few more years, his mind
finally collapsed and all was dark once again.
A boot kicked him in the side and he winced inside. It held
nothing compared to the whippings. A cool salve and bandages had already been
applied. He tried to curl up and go back to sleep but a voice commanded
otherwise.
“Who is Darius?” boomed the Preacher’s voice, “and how does
he have such power?”
Kelln opened his eyes and looked up. The Preacher brought
his hand forward and helped Kelln sit up. “Bring the boy some water,” he
commanded one of his men.
A cup of cool water met Kelln’s lips, and he drank greedily.
He didn’t want to look at the Preacher, but he couldn’t help it. “What did you
do?” he croaked.
“I sifted through your memories. It’s easier to do when you
are unconscious, and if you have been trained properly by the Eastern Lords.”
The Preacher relished his command of his powers.
Kelln tried to snarl and spit out venomous words at the
Preacher, but he just couldn’t do it anymore.
“Who is Darius, where did he get his power from, and where
is he now?” the Preacher asked again.
Kelln couldn’t hold back much longer. “He is my friend. Last
I knew he was still in Anikari.”
“Does he know he’s a wizard?” The Preacher loomed in closer
to Kelln, his large face intimidating him.
Somewhere inside, a lost laugh emerged from Kelln. It hurt
his stomach, but he found it amusing that the Preacher was asking if Darius was
a wizard.
“You find something entertaining?” The Preacher raised his
voice.
“You asked if Darius knew he was a wizard. I kept asking him
the same thing, but all he did was vehemently deny it over and over again. My friend
has been very stubborn in accepting his power.” Kelln remembered the many
discussions they had on the subject. Due to fear of his father and the reaction
of the rest of Anikari, Darius wouldn’t accept the fact he was a wizard. He
kept insisting it was just some minor magical abilities he would be able to
continue to hide.
“How can he deny such things?” asked the Preacher.
Kelln only shrugged.
“Maybe he could join me and we could rule the entire Realm
together with power and might.” The Preacher’s eyes widened with an excited
fervor.
Kelln knew his best friend would never agree to that. The
Preacher was evil. Darius would see at once upon meeting this man that their
powers were not the same.
“I will have to find your friend. Seems like we have much to
talk about.” The Preacher rose from the ground and motioned to the guards to
come with him. Outside the cell door he turned back to Kelln one more time.
“Your trial will be in one month’s time. Rest up. I want you strong so that the
people can watch me tear you apart.”
Kelln collapsed back onto the ground once more. He had one
more month to live. He dug backward, deep inside his own memories. They were
all he had now to keep him from going totally insane.
MARCHING TO BATTLE
S
ome rode horses, others
walked, and a few took the supply wagons as they headed down out of the
mountains, trying to beat the coming storm. Down the rugged mountain, they
marched at a pace full of excitement. This was what they had been trained for.
To serve the King. They were all lost in their own worlds while silently
walking over the rough, muddy road. A few squirrels and winter rabbits scurried
out of their way. The march would take a few weeks to get down the mountain and
all the way south to Denir.
Darius glanced back at the lower, billowing clouds and
realized they would not make it through the night without sleet and new snow.
Winter weather had begun late that year, but now it seemed to be in full force.
Darius smiled. The cold would make the men strong. They had been trained as
elite soldiers for battles just like this.
Sometime in the middle of the darkened night, he heard rain
begin to descend outside of his command tent. For a while it seemed the howling
wind would rip his tent apart and send him sliding down the mountain. However,
the tent held up and the monotonous, steady sound lulled him back into his
dreams.
During the night the temperature dropped and the next
morning the camp woke to a brilliant covering of white, being held in contrast
to the darkened mist still hovering over them. Darius ordered the camp to eat
quickly so they could depart. A few of the men mumbled that he was not being
fair with them in regard to the weather.
In answer to one of these remarks, Darius pushed through the
men to find the complaining soldier. “What don't you think is fair, soldier?”
“The storm is still upon us. We should be making
preparations to keep us safe,” whispered the young man as Darius stood above
him.
“Maybe you think it is fair that the people of Denir have an
army at their backdoor. Maybe we should just wait here until winter is over.
Then instead of saving them we can bury their bones.”
The young man cowered back, seeing the anger stream from
Darius. “I am sorry, sir. I wasn't thinking.”
“I like someone who can admit when he is wrong,” Darius
continued, lowering his voice. “But if this happens again I will let you stay
here for as long as you want, by yourself in the freezing snow with a
dishonorable discharge. You were chosen as an elite soldier. If you can’t face
a little snow then maybe you will have to go be a grunt in the larger army.”
The group packed and started on again. The going was slow.
Their feet dragged in the previous night’s snow. It would take them a week to
descend the mountain passes before reaching the main road to Denir. As they
moved on down the mountain, the snow turned into slush, and then mud that
covered half the way up their knee-high boots. When night came again they found
themselves a few miles farther but still a ways from the foothills.
A brilliant light woke Darius the next morning. He squinted
in the clear sunlight. The sky, a clear blue, looked as if an artist had
painted its far reaches during the night. Much of the water had soaked into the
ground during the night, and even though it was still cool, the day found the
young army full of enthusiasm.
After a quick breakfast of biscuits and fried meat, the
group started out again. The supply wagons would catch up to them at midday. A
group had already started out before dawn to set up for dinner later that
evening. After six days of slugging through the mud and combatting a few
rainstorms they eventually descended the foothills and camped at the base of
the Superstition Mountains for the night. Darius could see the road leading to
Anikari from the camp, and he wondered what his father would think of him now.
After setting up camp, Darius sent two men ahead to scout
for any advance scouts from the Gildanian army.
The next morning, before beginning the march south, Darius
rode back to the far wagons to see how they were doing. Without strong wagons,
an army would starve and not be useful to anyone. A small figure marched next
to one of the wagons. Darius thought the person looked too small for his army,
but maybe they were one of the cook’s helpers. He almost turned away, not
wanting to bother with it, when the sunlight caught something on the figure’s
wrist. Curious, Darius approached him. As he did, the figure bent its head
closer to the ground.
“Soldier! Stop!” Darius commanded, but the soldier continued
walking even faster. “I said stop!” he repeated as he jumped down off his
horse. He walked over and turned the soldier around.
Darius stared in astonishment. “What . . . How did you?” he
stuttered in surprise. He couldn't tear himself away from the eyes for a
moment. “Leandra!” he finally exclaimed.
“I needed to come with you, Darius. I couldn't stay in the
mountains without you. I was so afraid when you left before.” she rambled on.
Anger flooded into Darius’s eyes for a moment, but he
couldn't seem to find the words to match it. She gave him a hug, which caused
others to glance over and see what was going on. Darius became embarrassed and
confused. “I'll talk to you later,” Darius said briskly as he jumped back on
his horse, turned quickly, and rode back to the front of the line to
contemplate what to do. He was angry she was here because he didn't need her
distractions right now. At the same time, the one hug from her and the smell of
her sweet lilac scent brought back feelings he wasn't sure how to deal with.
Darius wanted Leandra with him. He wanted her touch and her kiss to comfort
him.
Why now?
he thought
. I have an army to lead.
She came to him later in the day and Darius told her she
could stay, but she had to take care of herself. She asked if she could set up
her tent next to his and he consented, knowing it might be a mistake, but not
wanting a distracting argument. A few of the men made whistles and catcalls
behind his back, but he ignored them. They were most likely just jealous
anyways.
They made slow progress down the road. Later that week the
advance scouts returned. They had been to Denir and seen the Gildanian army. It
actually turned out to only be a small battalion of about five hundred men. The
foreigners had taken land in the southern end of the city, just over the
border, and looked to be preparing to go further. They had not fought anyone
yet. Darius couldn’t figure out why they would only bring such a small
battalion into the Realm. They would know that the Realm army would mount their
own attack with many more soldiers.
The Realm army, however, would take more time to assemble
and march to Denir. The reason for the Elite Army was for things just like
this. Darius dismissed the scouts and sat out on a log by himself to think. It
was warmer here, being out of the mountains. Personally he was hoping for an
early spring.
After a few minutes of silence someone touched him from
behind. He turned, and Leandra stood above him. She looked beautiful,
silhouetted in the firelight, with her breath making small wisps of fog that
circled her face, then disappeared into the cold night. She wore a long,
dark-blue wool cloak around her slim body. She pushed the hood back off her
face, smiled, and bent down to him.
I have to think of my army. I have to
decide how to beat the Gildanians. I can't have this now.
She leaned down and kissed him. It had been a long time
since she had kissed him like that; it had been before his trek into the
mountains. It felt warm and exciting. Her scent lingered around him.
I
can't. I can't be distracted like this.
She rubbed her soft hands on his sore neck. She seemed to
take the tension away.
No! No!
“No, Leandra!” He tore her hands off his neck and stood up.
“I can't. I have to think.”
“I can help,” she offered. Her sweet voice whispered through
the night air.
“No. You distract me.” He walked further away from her.
“Leave me alone. I don't know why I let you stay. Maybe I should send you back.
I don't want you here.”
Darius’s back was to Leandra. That was the only way he could
talk to her. He had to be strong or else she clouded his thinking. He heard her
begin to cry, turn, and then leave. He wondered why he had let her stay. He
wondered why he had let her kiss him.
Darius walked further away from the camp, disappearing into
the dark, misty night. The night posed no problem for his eyesight. He seemed
surprised by how the natural flow of power reacted to his needs now.
The Gildanians outnumbered him by more than double. He knew
his soldiers were probably better trained, but this was their first battle and
he couldn’t be too careful. He climbed up on a large rock and stared out into
the endless darkness, wrapping his cloak around him to keep out the cold. The
trees seemed to take on shapes of their own, looking like monsters guarding the
ominous mountains. Shadows looked real, and what looked real might only be
shadows; however, he could see better in the dark than he used to be able to.
The camp began to quiet down as thoughts and plans came in quick succession to
his power-enhanced mind.
Darius watched as a small sliver of moon highlighted the
large pine trees against the nearby mountains. The fires around the camp all
died down and only an occasional sound made him look around. He looked up at
the glowing stars and exhaled, watching his breath frost up the air in front of
him.
We will win!
he assured himself
. I didn’t go through the
training to lose everything now
. He strolled back towards his tent, pausing
for a moment in front of Leandra’s tent. He stood gazing at the enclosure a
moment, not knowing what to think then turned and moved into his own tent by
himself.
The next morning Darius gathered everyone together. He
unveiled part of his plan. The rest would have to wait until he actually saw
the enemy camp. A small part of his army would branch off and go into the
foothills of the Superstition Mountains, coming around on the far side of
Denir. The rest would continue to march as if going straight to Denir as
planned, making sure that the Gildanians knew they were coming.
Darius announced that he would lead the smaller party of
twenty-five men; men that were the best at combat training and following
orders. They would travel two days and most of a third day over a rough
terrain, with little rest, to get to Denir before the main army did. Many of
the soldiers wanted to know what he was going to do with only twenty-five men,
but Darius said they didn't need to know yet. Some of the men became angry at
the sudden change of plans, but in the end, as things were forever throughout
the Realm, soldiers followed their leaders into battle, and the men quieted
down. With it being their first battle, they had to trust their new commander.
Darius was aware of the quiet, whispered complaints under
their breath. He placed two other men he trusted in charge of the main army,
handpicked his twenty-five men, and left, leaving Leandra with the main army.
He thought about leaving without telling her, but she still seemed to be
brooding over the previous evening’s encounter, so he talked to her for a few
minutes and gave her a small farewell kiss. Her scent lingered in his mind as
he left the main camp. He wondered how she managed to have perfume with her in
an army camp.
Quickly and quietly, the small group spent the three days
crossing the muddy foothills, bringing them to the west side of Denir late the
third day. Their feet were soaked and the men were cold to their bones, but
excitement filled the air.
Darius sent two men out of his group to scout out the perimeters
of the Gildanian camp. He found out that it appeared that the Gildanians had
indeed been fooled and were anticipating the main army marching in from the
main road, with anticipation of having more time until the fighting would
begin.