Rikart's rise to Battle Master, and right hand to the High King had been swift. News traveled quickly after he had killed his father in training, making him the youngest to sit next to the throne in Flame Sect history. Being so young, he was tested by the older Long Swords but his mettle had been proven time and time again. Even the King had questioned the ways with which Battle Masters were chosen but Rikart had made it clear from day one, he was the best man for the position. He had chosen a Shield Sister, only two years his elder and the pair had been feared among the Sect. Their tenacity unrivaled and their communication on the battle field stood above all others. Their leadership and prowess as a team had led to changes in training and formations.
Lucan had learned to trust him, and though the three towns had united for a battle when the Flame Sect were marching on their way back home, his battlefield strategy had led to saving the lives of so many of his soldiers and given the pitiful farmers and traders a facade to think they had defeated the mighty army. It bought them time to study on the former scholar, Eldon's research and better understand the magics they now possessed. It had bought time for Lucan to become one of, if not the most powerful War mage in the Emerald Kingdom.
Rikart, himself, did not possess the magic and had refused when offered. Though he didn't outwardly say, he could not bring himself to slaughter a child to gain magic. He had a family of his own, with two twin boys and a daughter. It was his wife, daughter and sons that he always thought of when he had to bring a child prisoner to the Halls of Magic within the fortress they had erected in the Salt Deserts. He did all he could to not watch the child writhe in pain when the masked practitioners cut off the top of their skull, or when the chosen soldiers would begin feasting on their still working brain. He had to tune out the blood curdling screams of dispair, the desperate cries for mercy, and the incoherent words they screamed each time a utensil scooped out a portion from their skull. Holding down his stomach and tasting the bile in his throat each time. He had never desensitized to the grotesque act and had promised himself he never would. When the ritual was done, he would always take the body and bury it behind the fortress and burn a prayer to the Gods of death, written on small scrolls of parchment.
Yalina knew the toll it took on him, because his nightmares were always at their worst on those dreadful days. She would make him his favorite meal of bramble rabbit and salt fruit, but it was always a struggle to eat. He knew he could trust her and in the confines of their home, at the latest hour of night, he would weep. Weep for the lost life, the tortured soul and for guidance from the Gods. He hadn't asked to become a part of this, but he knew he had a part to play. If he showed his disdain, he would be hanged for treason. If he partook in the horrible act, he would go against everything he fought for in this world. Humanity and the right for freedom to live how you chose. She would stroke his long red hair and trace his fire glyph tattoos and not say a word. She would let him pour his soul out into the open flames of their fireplace and disappear into the night like the embers that popped from each log.
It had been just over a year since Lucan had lost the better part of his hearing from the attack in the prisoner cells, and he was no closer to finding the assailant. Of course, it did not help that the High King could only describe the prisoner as a young girl. Rikart had assumed she fled to the North West part of the Kingdom looking for protection inside the Emerald Castle. A place he wouldn't dare send his scouts just yet, as the army hadn't yet fully prepared to storm the castle and overthrow the Emerald King. Lucan was patient, if only because he was still healing, but he knew the days were getting shorter on pulling the trigger on the assault.
"And Rikart, how many men are now with the magics in the Long Swords division?"
The question directed at him, had snapped him from his trance. Inquisitor Olave, a grunt of a man built like a boulder and a face to match with short red stubble for hair and a beard, was staring at him with his one good eye. A faintly glowing red iris, seated next to a milky red one. He was the man tasked with finding criminals for the front line assault in the army. His red and white robes barely able to contain the body underneath. Yalina elbowed Rikart discreetly.
"Sixty three." Rikart snapped.
The inquisitor raised an eyebrow, "Only sixty three out of the one hundred and fifty elite swordsmen?"
Rikart could feel his face getting hot. Being questioned by a man under his rank about a division that was above his. "Yes, Inquisitor. Exactly sixty three out of one hundred and fifty. Which, may I remind you. Is exactly sixty three more than your division, and exactly all but one station above yours. Do you forget who you address?"
Rikart sat in the Meeting Room with each division leader in the Flame Sect army. The room was spacious enough but the enormously built wooden table, took a major portion of the room up. Olave sat across from Rikart, as well as the other leaders. Seated to the left of him was his wife, and to the right was an empty chair that would've normally been the High King's. Besides Olave, there were five other leaders of the army and each one adverted their eyes as Rikart placed both of his linen wrapped hands on the table and stared Olave down.
"Sixty three elite swordsmen with the power to produce fire at will and decimate any advancing line. Paired with the tower shields of their chosen Shield Sister, and you can see the devastation my battalion could cause. I do not need all one hundred and fifty, I need the element of surprise. It's called strategic thinking you fat ass."
With the last words Rikart slammed a fist into the table, "Do you have any more questions Olave or is your mindless drivel done? Really, I'm glad you're in charge of our front line fodder, you're not equipped for anything else."
Olave stammered and his mouth worked open and closed with no words coming out. Yalina stood up, clothed in resplendent robes herself. They were bright red with gold flames on the sides and large white fur lining covered her neck. "The Shield Sister's now have the same number of Touched. Possessing the magic of Red Sands."
Rikart smiled at her, and he waved a hand over the table, "Able to control fire, able to control the ground beneath them. All while attacking with the greatest men to hold a sword in battle. This is beauty on a battlefield."
To the right of Olave a man in dark red robes sat, his hood pulled up over his shaven head. He nodded to himself and raised a pasty white hand in front of him, the air shimmered and as he turned his hand over and faced his palm up, a clear triangular dart appeared, "And the Magi of the Back Line now count two hundred in total, Battle Master."
Rikart had a hard time looking at the man, his dark black eyes seeming to know your every secret and dark spot of your mind. Magi Vanni was a hard man to look at, he had beady little black eyes that were deep set and always had dark rings underneath them. His cheeks were sallow and his lips were painted a deep purple. The runes carved into his face gave him raised scars that were white and pink. His voice was just as hard to listen too, almost a hiss with a thick southern deserts accent. Rikart nodded his head, "Thank you Magi. Certainly a formidable battalion. All trained in the magics of Moon Garden?"
"Aye, the same Battle Master. Conjurers of no less than three degrees." Vanni said in return.
"Degrees? Is this what we've taken to calling the number of brains your men eat?" Rikart questioned.
Vanni spread his arms wide, palms up and said, "Aye, Battle Master. The act is cruel but there's no need to be cruel with the name of what we're doing. We fancy ourselves better than those who oppose us. Should we not strive for that in every facet?"
Rikart risked a quick glance in Vanni's direction, their eyes meeting for a second. "You're right Magi. Degrees it is now. Calligrapher Torg, please make note of that."
Calligrapher Torg sat at the far end of the table and dipped his quill into the small pot of ink and nodded his head as he scribbled down the meeting notes. He was an old man, gray hair hanging to his shoulders and black robe almost encompassing his small and boney frame.
"Noted Battle Master. Degrees." Torg replied.
This meeting had already gone on too long, counting numbers and now giving a normal name to a grotesque act. Rikart tired of this charade. Being in a room with men he couldn't see eye to eye with, men who wanted domination instead of the idea of freedom under a ruling government. That had been the original plan, to secede from the Emerald Kingdom, become their own governing body, then to overthrow the Emerald rule with a rule of fair tax and fair land distribution for the traders and farmers, but most of all, equality from the top down. No one person better than the other. Fair rule, under a just King. Lucan had been the embodiment of that plan. He had learned what he didn't want to be from his Uncle, the Emerald King, Harrod. Had it turned to a sibling rivalry? When exactly did Lucan go from a just man to a man mad with the obsession for more magic?
The meeting adjourned without any fanfare, just the boring day to day basics that Rikart had become so familiar with in the wake of Lucan's injury. Yalina saw the last man out, as she stood by the double doors to the room. She softly closed the oversized wooden doors and turned to Rikart with a sympathetic smile.
"You are not like these men. You have qualities befitting a King. These men are hungry dogs snapping at the heels of one another for a mere scrap of meat."
Rikart returned the smile, "My love, I may not be like these men but fate has me leading them into war. A war for what exactly? What is it we're fighting for now?"
She crossed the room and ran her hand across his bare chest and hugged him from behind, whispering in his ear, "We fight for the chance to better ourselves, our lives for the future and for a chance to one day rule justly."
He spun around and put a finger to her lips, "You can't speak like that. Not here, not home, not anywhere. Gods above, I lead these men into war because I am afraid of the person Lucan has become."
She playfully bit his finger and said, "Rikart, you are the mountain. The backbone to this Sect. Where you lead, men will follow. Afraid or not, this will one day be yours. Lucan cannot continue in the way he has. Already he's losing trust. Not leaving his room for almost a year!"
Rikart grabbed her by her shoulders and gently pushed her back, "We speak treason and with no plan."
"Then let us put those wheels in motion. This Sect needs a strong leader with a sound mind. When we rule the Emerald Kingdom, who is left to stop us?" She said as she brushed his hands off of her shoulders.
"I don't know Yalina, my heart. I do know who stands above me right now, and that is not a fight I think I could ever win."
She snatched his face in her hands and pulled him eye to eye, "That is a fight, that you have to win one day."