[The Soldier]
The small crowd that has gathered in the street reek of one thing: fear. Captain Dunn raises a hand clutching a book. Two children, a boy of six and a girl of twelve on their knees, wailing as their mother also kneeling is behind the blade of Tyros's sword and their father hanging on a taut noose already pallid blue with death.
Dunn turns slowly, flourishing the jewel in his hand. Boats scribbled on its cover. Deceit that might as well shout the truth for its contents, derelict handwriting of how to speak our speech, from the alphabet to verbs to sentence formation. Some eyes ogle the book with horror and astonishment, some on the sky or the ground, none were aimed at the family.
"Treason." Dunn verdicts.
Gasps.
"Audacity to commit such nefarious crime costs one highly."
Hughes beside me, remote from any earshot, gives a scoff. Dunn orders his lieutenant to kill the mother, the children scampering towards her with ululating cries as her blood spill on the street, all the while I watch his eyes.
My friend's eyes have no trace of resentment or doubt.
His eyes are alight with sheer joy as he looks upon the pain before him. Dunn Loticuss who used to shadow me, who shared a piece of potato when we were initiates, who have a secret admiration for sculpting, who spent nights of agony and longing for home.
When did he become like this?
I dare not look away, committing the scene to mind. Dunn finishes by rounding up the two children, bringing them to the pens and a lifetime of slavery waiting for them.
The crowd thins, and I remain. Hughes clears his throat and I realize he is still with me.
"At this exact moment, what is crueler than violence?" He asks.
I take a breath and look at him.
"Indifference."
Hughes glances at the foot soldiers who pass by, shoulder to shoulder and merry in contrast to the wails on another street. He hurls a fist at the wall near him.
"Can we not do something?" He hisses, revolting.
"We are doing something."
"More. Something more."
I recognize that despair. I have not seen it in him until now. "Hughes, no matter what we do, we cannot save everyone."
He shakes his head.
"We just try over and over again." I grip his shoulder, staring straight into his eyes. "Do you understand?"
He glances at the bodies left on the streets then nods.
These past weeks, I see in Hughes more emotions flitting to his face. He is vibrating with life more than the years we spent before. Perhaps it is not the man but his perspective that changed.
Soon, Rescus and Lebenen, finds us. "Captain, we found another one."
A rebel graffiti was hidden behind a tapestry. The owner of the house, a young man, tries to run. He is caught immediately, hanged right outside his door and we watch as his house blazed to ashes.
Conspirators, rebels, spies, traitors – the same story going in circles – excuses and lies just to drag them from their homes, and execute them on the streets of Asuelus. We are reaping lives like the scythe of death himself.
They need to be utterly crushed once again, to douse the flames of courage erupting from the pits of their souls.
The graver the damage, the less they fight; Cirrhinus's exact words.
Day rolls on, like always. We find ourselves in a tavern, our unit intermingling with other locals and Aeonnite soldiers alike, drowning in wine, jolly songs, and shallow, temporary joy.
A flagon in hand, Hughes sways as he made his way to our table. Aris is snoring on my right, Lebenen murmuring to himself on my left.
"So," Hughes begins, slurring. "You have not done it before."
"Done what?"
He extends his lips, making exaggerating kissing noises. Then, he roars in laughter, gushing saliva. I wipe my cheek.
"You are drunk."
He shakes his head and hands wildly, spilling wine everywhere. "Did you know, did you? We called you stiff once. Once! Was it?"
He drags every letter like heaps of stone.
"A dozen times."
"Captain stiff!"
He imbibes the wine as if his lifeline is in it. I take a sip in mine when he slams face-first on the table, collapsing. Hughes is finally out.
On my third flagon, I hear a humming from Hughes. It is a catchy song we used to sing as initiates. Words trail the opening tune, he is too inebriated to pronounce clearly. Yet, I catch some of it.
'…Will I be able to
Stay the night with you?
For tomorrow is unknown
And I may not live on…'
Half-past ten, Dunn enters the tavern. He looks about and as though called by my stare, he strides past tables to where I sit with drunk Elites.
"Pour me some, my friend."
Grabbing the amphora, I fill his flagon. He sighs, satisfied at his first long gulp. A few rounds later I ask, "Any news?"
"Word is, the guerrillas joined forces with the Anagolay and the Vanuyan."
His gaze is beyond my shoulder, faraway. I take a sip.
"They are following someone named Katchil Sylfain."
"Katchil? Saramin's son?"
"Yes. The Young Prince." Dunn affirms, drinking a flagon more. "We know little about him. He was given authority to rule two cities by the age of twelve. Deserted the same cities and his kind by letting us colonize them and disappeared years after, until now.
"He is sighted in Ilysus city about four years ago. By the time anyone paid him any attention, he is already deeply rooted in several cities, Ilysus's governor is in his pockets and the people are shielding him."
I blink.
"He methodically, with subtlety, gathered Thraine warriors in Ilysus," he adds, sneering.
"And now the Anagolay sides with him raiding wagons."
The supply and trade roads. They figured it out.
"Raiding what?"
I do not need to ask but I did, spying on black-clad soldiers that walk inside the tavern. They are tailed by a stout, middle-aged man, dressed as one of Cirrhinus' messengers.
"Weapons. Our weapons."
The messenger is looking for someone. I frown, my heart starting to race.
"Funny thing is, Gaviel, the king seems to have known it all along."
I meet his eyes. Dunn puts down his flagon. The messenger reached us. "Lieutenant Hughes Vertii,"
Hughes lifts a heavy head.
"I did it for you." I hear Dunn say.
I shot to my feet, my flagon flinging on the ground. Hughes, sobering. With no preamble, I grab Hughes up but palace guards circle us, pointing their swords.
"I did what you cannot do."
Dunn, what did you do?
"By the decree of King Cirrhinus–"
No. No.
"– We arrest you for conspiring with the guerrillas and plotting against our king."