Prologue I
Deep in the southwest corners of Ferrosa stood the great and ancient citadel, surrounded by the molded mountains, small ragged hills, and rainforests. Further miles to the west the citadel touched the harsh blue sea. Caedena it was called, the great fortress city. Rich with resources the entire realm envies. A city favored by the gods some would say. A stronghold so great and mighty, only the foolish would ever dare to invade.
Yet the enemy army from the western expedition came, marching slowly, and quietly lingering within the quiet forest just miles outside the gates. Their numbers were small, as the scouts say, but it always pays to be careful.
Peterson Goldensun followed their grand-general, Grayson, on top of the magnificent white walls of Caedena. Rough winds passed now and then, their coats flapping along.
The Curtain they called the wall. Pristine and strong, standing proudly two hundred meters high and fifty meters thick. Upon the surface of the battlements, Peterson felt the rising sun touch the back of his neck. Another day for war and preparations. Soldiers hustlin beneath the morning heat, same as yesterday and the day before it.
The Alminians were coming for them.
Once Peterson wore the red and black coat, the Alminian colors, together with all the other soldiers around him. They had fought and bled and died for their king and land. "For the stability of the realm", the speaker of the king says. Almina was the center of trade and center of Ferrosa. The unspoken ruling capital of the realm in all but name. Caedena has natural resources, but Almina has coins and gold and commerce and more importantly, Almina has a grandest army..
King Valamir of Almina was a pious man, devoted, and godly. The entire realm were already believers of the Solahi doctrine, saved for one. In the far far northeast lay the Frozen Empire, which was an untouched part of land during The Crusade. Merchants and traders and wanderers who had the chance to travel such parts of the world speak of the Frozen Empire worshipping not Solah but the Red Five. King Valamir decreed them as abominations in the eyes of Solah and men. Thus a holy war was to begin.
Peterson glimpsed momentarily in the past. Grayson Grasswood was the Lord Justiciar of the king's council three years ago. When the talk of the foolish conquest of the north was at the table, Grayson counselled against it. Saying that no good will come of that except unnecessary death and destruction. The king and the rest of the councilmen were not pleased with his words. Some even thought of it as blasphemy and treasonous. With the king's word, he immediately expelled Grayson from the council, and ordered him to be taken to the dungeon. Palace guards flooded the chambers, armored with polished red and silver steel, ready to drag the Lord Justiciar to his cell. Brave and foolish for them to do so for Grayson was a luxor, a man trained and educated with the properties of vright. He wore no steel but was embraced by a splendid military coat reaching to his legs. A grand rapier rested on his right hip and a blast-stick on his left but the most deadly of his weapons was already at his grasp, as all luxors do: Black-leather gloves with gleaming black pearls attached on its dorsum. Pearls containing vright, pure and deadly. Within a heartbeat, Grayson consumed the vright from the black orbs. The pearls shattered once the elements from within were depleted, crisp hazy smoke puffed out. The former Lord Justiciar was deadly with a blade, everyone knew that, but with vright he was unstoppable. Lord Marshall Vestine and Lord Financer Iscoben were luxors, capable and competent in their own accord, however, even their combined strength with the palace guards proved futile against the battle hardened Lord Justiciar, thus all of them perished in the council room.
After the bloodshed, Grayson Grasswood set his eyes to the king, who was so frightened, failed to order his Blade to assist the councilmen. Grayson's gaze met the king's Blade, Eeron Quiven, whose sole purpose was to protect the king with his life. Wielding a sword was a task beneath a king, therefore only the most trusted and worthy can stand by the monarch's side with blade at his hand, such was the name of the title he bore. There were three Blades in all, but only one stood by the king's side at a given time so the others could rest. Solah must have been watching the king that day, for no one had ever bested Grayson Grasswood except for Eeron Quiven. The Blade held the beautiful silvery long sword of the Alminian king, White Claw, it was said to be wielded by one of Vera's Ten during The Crusade.
Stories had been fabricated by Alminians saying Eeron almost killed Grayson during their encounter, that he fled and escaped bleeding and dying. But they were all lies. It has always been in Grayson's nature to never fight a losing battle. The Blade was well equipped and styled by the ceremonial golden plate armor adorned with different gems and rare stones, in it were several pearls as black as midnight: Two on his chest, one on each shoulders and thighs and seven on each gauntleted fists. The Blade's twenty pearls against the Grayson's remaining two. Only a fool would engage a Blade in such a predicament, and Grayson was not such one. He decided to retreat from the castle with men loyal to his cause.
Peterson was one of them.
At the end of the day, there was a war of course. Not the holy one the King Valamir envisioned, but a war among themselves.
For three years, Grayson's men had been dancing with the Alminian's army. Many nearby small towns and villages and cities heard their uprising, and fought alongside them. From a few hundred soldiers battling small skirmishes to forty-thousand strong fighting in massive fields. Then they received the support of Caedena a year after. Now they were, without a doubt, winning. Left and right, the red forces were dwindling. Soon enough Almina will be ours.
Grand-general Grayson Grasswood strode proudly atop the bastion walls. The edges of his yellow military coat snapping in the wind. A tall man with round shoulders and steady back. His height towered the rest of the soldiers. His beard was thick like the forest beyond, his jaw was hard but his eyes were harder. Today, it seems his eyes were at its hardest, after hearing the reports that none of the luxors he had tasked to scout the enemies had yet returned. They were Theresa's squad; veteran luxors of five victorious battles. They were a key component of Grayson's army. If not for them, none of the battles might have been won. Compared to the rest of luxor squads, they were the finest and most efficient. For them to not return was a bad sign.
Peterson held the grand position of captain of the honor guards. Anyone might think it to be a great and honorable position, but truth be told, he thought of it as akin to a glorified assistant. At first he enjoyed the fame and attention he gained but sooner he discovered it was exhausting work. All orders from the grand-general funneled to him. Sometimes he envies the soldiers running around, whose responsibilities were simpler. Nevertheless, he took his job seriously, noticing every small detail. From vright and blades to flies and flakes.
Four honor guards were with him, a shield and star etched in their chest, inspecting the men and walls alike. It might be amusing to see the honor guards smaller than the ones they were guarding. There was only one way for Almina to win the war and it was by their general's death.
"We have established an impenetrable bulwark, grand-general." Telmon Flamewind reported, the Defense Overseer. "A squad of luxors mobile and at the ready, archers and crossbowmen stationed on top of the ramparts and within arrow slits halls. Pikemen covered with good steel. Cavalry commanders waiting in the east and west gates primed to engage the flanks." The luxors the overseer mentioned pales in comparison to Theresa's squad.
"Perfect. Now, we wait." Grayson said, his eyes distant, recalling the troubling reports. Grayson wanted no surprises so he fortified the walls to the very able man. Hiding in the hills and forest mountains were the enemy's host: One of last remaining veteran generals the entire Alminian kingdom had. The army called forth from the expeditionary forces in the western lands. The Raging Sun, commanded by General Xyvier Goldensun.
Peterson's own cousin.
Seven years ago he and Xyvier merrily drank together in his father's manor surrounded by several daughters of lords of minor houses. Young men flaunting and boasting their wealth to the ladies. Good fun memories. The girls always flocked to see Xyvier's smooth unblemished pretty face. His perfect white teeth and warm smile would make any young girl swoon. And Xyvier liked it, he revelled in such attention. The man also won a duel in the Alminian coliseum that soared his popularity through the skies. Soon enough he was then put in charge of the great expeditionary forces to the western island. Some say he left several bastards before he departed. Peterson remembered how they talked about the bright future ahead of them. Their family was one of the higher houses in Almina with particular relations to the king's court. They discussed laws that should be obsolete and rules that can help the common folks and lords alike. The bright future. As it turns out, the future was dark and dirty. Never had Peterson thought he would face his cousin in war. He knew the man as foolish and brave. A man who wants nothing more but fame and glory and women. "Forgive me, cousin." Peterson whispered to himself as he caressed the hilt of his rapier, for he promised himself he would take his cousin's head, quick and smooth and painless.
Telmon faked a cough. "Excuse my bluntness, grand-general." He warned, but everyone knew what he was going to spew. "Again, may I suggest we take the fight to them now. We beat them-"
"We beat them three-to-one. I know, Telmon." Grayson said. " The superior numbers are on our side, nothing more true. Footmen and cavalry, strong and fast. But understand, they have more luxors now than we have. Our own finest, I fear, have been slaughtered. But time is on our side and I would rather use it for caution than recklessness. Now, focus on the defense, captain. I seem to recall that I appointed you as its overseer."
How Xyvier managed to defeat their elite luxors was an enigma to Peterson for they had defeated generals who were more experienced and battle-hardened than him. Swords, shields, and spears have their uses but now was the age of vright and pearls. Black pearls to be precise, harvested from the scales of steel serpents from the deep sea.
Even in the heat of the sweltering sun, Grayson's company continued to make rounds on the ramparts, the grand-general greeting the squad captains here and there. Whether his presence inspires morale or fear, the grand-general doesn't care, so long as they do good on their duty. The grand-general cursed at the time consuming walk. What would he expect with long walls? The southern walls were almost devoid of soldiers. Only a thin portion of men patrol those parts. Most were spread in the east, west, and especially the north. The longer the walls, the more men it requires. They would eventually get wind if the enemy tried to encircle them and if that happens, no doubt the grand-general would strike.
The sun came high at the center. It took the entire morning to check the entire walls. Everyday after their morning routine in the walls, they would go to the King's Palace to have lunch with the Caedena king. After the grueling descent down the stone stairs of the wall, Peterson saw the carriage that awaited them. A small simple wooden vessel with a capacity for four men. Peterson chose two others to ride with them, while the rest would walk.
"Captain!" shouted someone, running towards them before they embark. Peterson, surprised, almost vrightblasted the barker, his blast-stick already on hand. It was Jim, the one he ordered to find the bearer currently residing in the city's vicinity. Bearers have the gift and abilities to control nature such as wind and fire and more.
Fifty years ago the bearers were the rulers of the entire realm, so great was their power that no man could defy them. Only a bearer could kill a bearer, as all men say. No man could defeat them, save themselves, and soon enough a war of their own erupted. The arcane war, as it was written by the surviving scholars, scarred and destroyed the land so much that after the war the victors left the capital and went far to the south island, where they built the Ivoryhall. Before they exiled themselves, a peace treaty was written in length with many articles and pages.
One of which , Peterson remembered, was they would send seekers throughout the realm, looking for those who had the gift and taking them along to Ivoryhall. Indeed, a bearer was inside Caedena as talks from common folk spread.
Jim saluted, sweat on his forehead, panting.
"Did you find her?" Peterson asked.
"Actually, she found me, sir. She knew I was looking for her. Scary as the pits."
Peterson gave a dubious look. "How did you know she was a bearer?"
Jim showed his right arm. A small black patch of skin, charred. "She did it with only a touch. It looked awful but hurt only a little. Also she showed me the ring that bearers wear, made of silver and strange wood with a ruby attached."
Peterson nodded convinced. "What did she say to our proposal?" If they had a bearer as an ally, then they would have already won.
"She says she doesn't want to get involved in the affairs of the realm, and states the Treaty of Almina was binding, called me stupid and uneducated, and left."
"Arrogant fools!" The grand-general cannot help himself. "If it was for their own cause, they would interfere every now and then. They just want to look good and promising. I know bearers who take coins from wealthy families in exchange for certain favors. Pits take them, all of them! They might as well be corrupt as the Alminian court!"
Peterson moved closer and whispered to Jim. "What about the other thing I asked?"
"Here." Jim took out a piece of paper nonchalantly, oblivious of what Peterson hinted. "It's a map. For two silvers, the Flying Pigs' barkeeper drew and gave it to me."
"Captain, what is that?" Grayson probed.
"Sir, I just figured. If things didn't go so well…" Peterson hesitated to answer. Stupid Jim made the grand-general cornered him. Now was definitely not a great time to inform him.
"Spill it out."
"As a last resort, sir. Just in case the war goes sour and bitter on our side. There lived a sorcerer in the Old Forest."
It took but a moment for Grayson to comprehend. The grand-general snatched the paper from the captain's hands and tore it to pieces. "The last thing we need is another Black Incursion. We are not so low as to associate ourselves with those who practice such arts. I am disappointed with you, Peterson." Grayson entered the carriage, not letting him reason out.
In the further distant past, the realm was ruled by Demon lords who held dark powers and blood magic. Saint Veritas with his Ten liberated the entire land from their grasp, and forbade such practices thereafter. However, a hundred years after The Crusade and the death of the saint, the wielders of such power returned. It was until the bearer kings decided to finally end the twisted magic; an event the Scholars called The Purging.
For the entire ride to the palace, an awkward silence lingers. Peterson looked out from the windows. Empty streets and houses and manors. It felt like an entirely different world compared to the bustling and hustling crowd from before. The residents near the north wall were temporarily transferred to the evacuation zone, all congested inside. Those with better coins stayed in more comfortable establishments in the south. Beggars loitered around the streets, together with cats and vermin. Vagrants and paupers and rodents were harder to remove than an army, Peterson thought.
The Palace was made from gold, stone and wood. Three stories high. A large golden statue of Saint Veras stood mighty in front of the building, his foot on top of a dying demon. Peterson certainly saw a similar one inside Castle Oppei in Almina, moments before the grand-general killed two of the councilmen.
Caedena soldiers patrolled the Palace. Spears at their hands and chain mail at their breast. Most of the army was composed of Caedena men. Unfortunately, their university's vright training began only six years ago. Only a few graduate luxors were available for the war effort.
Once the carriage stopped, Grayson quickly proceeded to the meeting rooms. He nodded to the guards, who already grew familiar with him and his company. The men opened the door immediately.
Inside was a young Caedena luxor, Neyl Aravel. He wore a black and blue coat that rose up to his neck. "Grand-general, the King awaits." Neyl said, as he led them upstairs. Men and women in office clothing were bustling around, none greeted them. War doesn't stop bureaucratic work it seems. The young luxor opened the door and motioned them to enter. The meeting room has a high ceiling with a circle table, framed windows half open. There sat on a comfortable chair the King of Caedena. He did not cover himself with the similar royal garments of the Alminian ruler, but a more of a grandeur coat similar to a luxor. King Keevin Quartellion already started his lunch with a chewy bite of pork chop. Sliced chicken deep in a salty black soup, sweet and sour fish, and beef broccoli displayed lavishly on the tabletops. Two of his advisers and the captain of the guards were in attendance. Every noon, they rendezvous in the Palace to plan and update their strategy.
The king's guard watched as they approached. Grayson gestured for the rest of the honor guards to stay outside. Only the captain accompanies him each meeting.
"Come, come." Keevin spotted them and stood, his palm offering seats. "My appetite grows by the second with this war. How are the defenses, grand-general?"
The king's belly grows by the second was more precise. "All fonts are secured, your Majesty." Grayson said as he seated, omitting the lack of southern patrol.
"Splendid. The last army, the one from the savage lands. I almost can't believe it. The Alminians are at the brink of desperation. " Keevin said. "It sounds like one in the stories, you know, like Micheal the Good against the Edgarvo The Evil. A few simple men fighting a kingdom, then winning. Soon it will be yours."
Children's stories were a far cry compared to the complexity of war. As always, both sides would claim to be the good while their adversaries would be the bad.
"A feast on the victory day!" Adviser Micheal exclaimed, ideas clearly swirling in his head. "The Battle of the Eden Pass, The Battle of Marcopel, The Battle of Jay Sea, The Battle of Myrary, and The Siege of Caedana. All will be remembered and reenacted in a play."
"Beautiful, beautiful! Grayson's Rebellion our enemies call this war. It sounds so plain and bland." Adviser Daevid said, agreeing. "We must rename it! The Liberation of Almina. Yes, yes, that sounded better.
It sounds ludicrous. The situation felt serious as a blade on their very throat, while these fools talked about plays and names. Peterson glanced at the grand-general, whose face flared red. It seems Grayson wanted to lash out his frustration. The multiple victories clearly made the king and council slack and soft.
"Gentlemen! Please we are still at war." said Vincent, Caedana's guard captain. The only one who had a sense of what was happening. "Since the grand-general is here, let us begin."
"Wait! First a drink! Rare vintage from Bethel's fine orchards. The finest and very best. I just received a gift this morning. Caedena's hospitality dictates I offer some to our hardworking general." The king said, smiling and quite red. The man already had several it seems. "A single cup, just to smoothen the nerves. Farcundo, bring out wine again, please!"
A butler hurriedly delivered and served the delicate fluid, pouring the scarlet to a slender wine glass with theatrical grace. The serving man's face was familiar, but Peterson passed it aside. Every now and then faces would look the same.
The grand-general's fist and jaw were clenched, in no doubt at the very verge of insulting the king and his two fools. "Sir, I'll drink first." Peterson whispered, focusing on the wine. Any dark fluid was a potential poison. His interruption broke and dissipated Grayson's building temper.
"No, it's alright." Grayson responded, looking at the king who still breathes. Caedanas and their love of stupid wine. Their heads were stubborn and hard like the Curtain itself.
The glasses of red wine sparkled in front of them, the aroma drifting through Petersons nostrils. The flash of anger perhaps made the grand-general thirsty as he licked his dry and cracking lips "Only one." Grayson announced to the king.
Peterson took a red glass of his own. It flowed down smoothly in his throat. Cherry sweet and sour at first followed by an appealing bitterness that lingered in the tongue. The strong liquid filled his chest and belly with a radiant warmth.
"The movement of the citizens from the northern sector has been completed" The guard captain said immediately, after gulping the vintage. All pleasantries were put aside. "Only the homeless dwell on the streets now."
Adviser Micheal yawned, "For how long will this endure, captain? The businesses of the north sector are vital for the city's economy."
"Once we defeated the enemy."
"Of course, of course, obviously." Micheal looked at the grand-general "But when do we strike? Reports say we outnumber these expeditioners ten-to-one."
"I heard you lost a squad of luxors." Keevin added. "The same one that won us battle after battle?"
How did the king know such information? Peterson glanced at his grand-general to see his reaction. If Grayson was surprised by what the king said, he hid it well.
"One and the same. They did not return, I concluded they had died. The loss was crucial and caused us to momentarily standby. The enemy was able to defeat battle hardened luxors. What more to other accounts? Superior numbers are not always the winning factor. We need more information about our new enemy. This war may either end late in the afternoon or in three years. Patience is our only tool to reach our goal." Grayson replied. "And expect financial collapse, adviser."
"Well, war has its own risk and gamble. You can't win them all. Luck always has its own limits. Solah does not bless everyone everyday in every single heartbeat." The king said.
Boom! A thundering crush came from outside. A horn bellowed for five seconds and more. All soldiers hurriedly left their meals on the table. The honor guards burst into the room.
"Escort the king to the upper tower!" Grayson shouted. "Everyone else to me!"
The king's guard quickly assisted the king and his advisers. Vincent commanded the soldiers under him to see the safety of the citizens.
An attack, now?
In a heartbeat, the grand-general cracked a pearl and glowed blue. Peterson consumed a pearl of his own. Muscles flared as he felt energy surged and flowed within his veins, swift, smooth, and sharp. The rest of the honor guards did the same as their company emanated blue.
If this was an attack, they needed to be on top of the walls, now. With enhanced speed and strength, they smashed through the window and into the road. Such height and impact could simply kill a man but not luxors with vright-enhanced strength. They sprinted towards the north sector, faster than the wind, ghostly blue visage followed in their wake.
Prologue II
Grayson Grasswoon single handedly stopped the holy war from happening, only to be replaced by a war he himself had crafted. He had already killed five Alminian generals, all he knew well, most were his friends. He had personal knowledge of them, their attitudes and motivation, and he had used those to his advantage. Now, a younger general with less experience in war was outside the gates.
Truth be told, Grayson was so very eager to fight the invading force head on, like the rest of the lot. But such a rush could cost him dearly. The young general was the last obstacle standing before him now, and he only needed one small window of opportunity for him to grab victory. Patience was power, and he upholds that virtue since the very beginning. Everyone wanted the fastest way, but that was not the correct thing to do in this predicament. Within the citadel they have a wealth of provisions. Being cautious has its price, and soon enough Grayson will be rewarded.
"Report." Grayson ordered as they arrived, blue fleeting away. Wall captains and soldiers were in position, waiting, and observing for any other enemy movement.
"B-b-boulder, sir. They threw a boulder." Telson said, confusion in his voice.
"A boulder?" Grayson asked in disbelief. He walked and peeked beneath the ramparts. Debris and rocks scattered on the ground. A patch of dirt marked the area of impact, blemishing the Curtain. "What in the pits is happening?"
"Incoming!" A cry came from one of the captains.
And there it was, a round object hurling through the air in dreamy slowness. Within a couple of heartbeat it descended hard. Boom! It crashed just below the ramparts. Again, Grayson inspected the site as if to find an answer. The impact was a few meters higher than before.
In the Battle of Myrary, he had used a diversion strategy to outmaneuver the enemy's defenses. Striking from a most obvious position only to emerge on the opposite side. Maybe his opponent was using the same line but Grayson had already thought of that. Hundreds of men scouted every foot of the forest mountains in both east and west. Any movement would be reported back to him.
Catapults and trebuchets were archaic methods of warfare. It's been centuries since they were last used. Grayson squinted his eyes to the distance, but the machine was covered by the stupid hills and trees.
Mocking laughter erupted from the ranks. "They think of crushing the Curtain with rocks! This Xyvier fellow might have gone mad in the western lands."
"He might have mistaken Caedena's walls for Tails End's wooden fences!"
"Singing around the wall has better chances of taking it down than flinging stones!
The guffawing continued.
Somethings not right, Grayson thought, as he wiped off a drop of sweat from his forehead and cheeks. Why would they do something so irrational? Grayson had never made the mistake of underestimating his opponents.
"Peterson, were there any reports of enemy movements?"
"No, sir."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir. The men I have assigned were the best rangers I have known. They have studied the entire land for the duration of our stay within the walls. Not even a roach could pass them without their notice."
The initial reports counted that the invading forces were less than a thousand men, five hundred at the most. A small strike force, The only way they would win the war is if they kill him. Are they planning to distract him?
"Incoming!"
The boulder flew over the walls, several feet high above them. Boom! Splinters of wood and dust burst as it smashed one of the abandoned houses.
Laughter roared again.
Then a thought occurred to Grayson. Perhaps he really overestimated his opponent this time. Such effort and means would accomplish nothing. Do they really plan to tear the wall with such devices? Rocks and boulders? Do they think we will spend even a single pearl to destroy those things? Grayson finally made up his mind.
"Telson! Peterson! Gather the generals and captains. We will strike now!" Grayson commanded. The rapid creation of the trebuchet meant the involvement of vright. All the enemy luxors might very well be in that precise location, eliminating them would in no doubt bring victory. The window of opportunity was here.
"I will lead one of the cavalry charges." A diversionary tactic for the enemy will have thought he would lead a squad of luxors.
Peterson smiled and saluted. His honor guard captain has been waiting for this moment, and maybe everyone else. Almina will be ours.
Grayson has his mind fixed and set. Perhaps he was the foolish one, overthinking again and again and again. A conclusion came to him: Peterson's cousin has been away far too long in the savage lands that his tactics have adapted in the wilderness. Tribal walls and wildling's stronghold might easily be shattered by rocks and stone, but not this. Time to respond with an attack of their own. Time to end this.
"Incoming!"
Grayson hesitated to look at another ugly boulder but he did it anyway, a final glimpse before going down the Curtain, as if he would find any sense and explanation to what else their enemy was either planning or doing.
All went quiet in awe as they took sight of it. The boulder burned bright blue, blinding as the very sun itself. A white tail followed as it streaked along the afternoon sky. A swift large shadow flew past them.
No one was laughing now.
Prologue III
Blue light devoured the cityscape. The crashing and crunching sound boomed so loud that Solah might have heard it Himself. Cloud of dust and debris touched the very sky, followed by a raging wind that clashed in all directions.
A couple of leagues in the north, across the scrubs and trees and deep within the hillsides from Caedena, a man in a red and black military coat sat on the surface of a tree stump. He sighed heavily with sorrow and exhaustion. His eyes were deep, sunken, and solemn. All around him were soldiers whose eyes were more and less the same.
"Forgive me, cousin." Xyvier whispered.