The following days passed slowly for Aerham and the army traveled into western Minogradia. Uth Garenthil rushed the army between towns, but was always slow to leave the taverns or inns the following day after throwing lavish parties and festivals at each stop. The man never gave instructions that didn't relate to his parties or arriving at the next town in a timely manner. He hated to arrive after dark and not be seen. He made no attempt to recruit for the Brotherhood, aside from favorably influencing every drunkard in the kingdom. The training mission was an excuse for him to try every bed and bottle of wine in the country and nothing more.
Aerham didn't blame Minogradia and Saroken for not wanting to supply troops for the fortress, and as the rumors said, for not wanting to pay their tithes. He didn't want to be associated with this activity either. He made the best of it and trained as he had planned. One day, while Uth Garenthil and the other Initiates rode to town, he took nearly all of the men and assaulted a barn as if it were a castle. The only casualty had been a chicken. He had been surprised at how eager the soldiers had been. Battle had brought out the best in them, even if it had been against an invisible enemy and a poor chicken.
The weather was warm and only rained occasionally. Aerham could see a rising level of respect in the soldiers, as Captain Meagus had said. They hid their liquor at night when he passed, no longer offering him a drink as some once had. That was an improvement. He didn't have to wake each soldier individually anymore. He did allow the small groups to have their campfires each night, but made certain the men understood that the enemy could count those, or use their light to count tents, and estimate their numbers. At times he felt like he alone was in charge of the one-hundred fifty men, and the other three Initiates were happy to let him take charge at night as they followed the Brother to town.
On the morning of the eleventh day, they were near the western coastline, and within two days of marching from the port city of Ornek, a major trading center between Minogradia and the island kingdom of Daiserenia. Aerham recognized the area, since his father's estate wasn't far to the south, between their army and Ornek. He hoped to visit his father and his beloved Deivean. The image of her wearing that white gown haunted his dreams. He had made certain to save one of his white tunics with the sun emblem, so he would have a fresh uniform when he saw Deivean and his father. They would be hardly surprised, but definitely pleased to learn he had already been raised to Initiate.
The morning sun glared from beyond the horizon when Aerham was summoned by a bannerman and he left the soldiers to packing the camp without his supervision. He mounted his horse and rode to meet with the Brother. He was surprised that Uth Garenthil had awakened so early. He debated the possibility that the Brother and Initiates had not been to bed yet and were going to instruct him to leave the camp in place for another day.
Uth Garenthil sat upon his horse with a fresh, yellow banner draped over it. He wore his full plate armor, which had been buffed to a perfect shine. Aerham knew many soldiers lost sleep to make certain the Brother looked his best; the armor reflected every glimmer of the orange horizon. The Brother held his helm under his arm as he stifled a yawn with his other hand. His mustaches were oiled and neatly-trimmed, as always, and his hair was likewise oiled and pulled back.
The four bannermen sat on their horses, holding the limp lion banners high. Not far away the other three Initiates, wearing their chain mail hauberks and white tunics, sat upon their horses talking quietly among themselves. A laugh burst from their group every few moments.
"Ah, glad you could finally make it," Uth Garenthil said. His sarcasm irritated Aerham. They both knew who had always been the late arrival. Well, if one were to view the matter as if parties were the important thing, then Aerham would have been habitually late.
Aerham frowned, but remained silent. He felt anger rising within himself. His father taught he should control it. Ravyneira taught self control. He fought the words he wanted to growl.
"For most of the day and the night we will be staying at your father's estate," Uth Garenthil boasted, gesturing to himself, the Initiates, and bannermen. His face slid into a clever grin. "You will watch the camp, as always." He held that disgusting grin as he surveyed the impact of his statement.
Aerham felt his face grow hotter and struggled against his surging anger. There was no reason he shouldn't be allowed to see his father and betrothed. No reason except that Uth Garenthil was a petty man. He gritted his teeth to keep from telling the Brother exactly what he thought of him. He couldn't verbally disrespect a superior, even if the man was not worthy of his title.
"It would be a break in your training if we allowed you to return home," Uth Garenthil smiled innocently, as if it hurt him to say it. "Initiates must fulfill their training before they are allowed to pursue other interests." His smile betrayed his true intent and it was clear that he had no interest in proper training techniques. That had been established.
If anyone else had offered that logic, Aerham might have agreed, but he knew that Uth Garenthil was trying to punish him. If the man wanted to play games with him, there was little he could do. He would play along, because he did not have a choice. At the end of the training march, there would be a reckoning with the Lord of Light, Uth Arthgrin. He would set things straight. Honor would be upheld.
"As you wish, Brother," replied Aerham curtly, bowing as much as he could from the back of his horse. That had been the only phrase he had spoken to the man since that morning in the Emerald Lion.
"Do you have any recommendations on things we should try while we dine? Perhaps, particular food that your cooks specialize in. Or perhaps particular women? What was the name of that girl you've been taken by?"
Aerham felt dizzy. He felt as if he might explode. His knuckles clenched the reins of his mount. His blood raged through his veins. There were no words. He waited for further insult. And that was all. One more insult. Any mention of Deivean. Any insult toward his father. And it would all be over.
Uth Garenthil sighed. "I'm sure we'll figure it out on our own. We'll have all night there." A couple of the bannermen laughed.
Aerham exhaled slowly. He tried to calm himself. His father had taught him how to separate his anger and be rational. He had also taught him how to wear his rage and wield it like a weapon. He couldn't do both, and if he could not separate his rage, it would consume him and he would do things he could take back. Things that might prevent him from becoming a full Brother.
"My father is a gracious host. His hospitality is quite generous." Aerham finally forced himself to say. He knew he didn't sound genuine.
Uth Garenthil stroked his mustache and frowned. "Yes, of course."
As the army began the march, there was a taste of salt in the air. They were near the ocean. It was the refreshing aroma of home to Aerham, though it heightened his disappointment that he wouldn't be allowed to visit his father. He knew the dirt road they traveled upon as it wound south over the low hills. The gray sky refused to release its rain, instead creating a gloom that matched his mood. A cool breeze, stronger than usual, swept in from the coast, foretelling of a storm yet to come.
Uth Garenthil repeatedly urged the Initiates to make the men march faster. He wanted to reach the estate before the rain came. He definitely didn't want his precious full plate to get wet. He wanted to ride into the estate in his full glory. An illusion he wanted to maintain.
As they crested a hill in the mid-afternoon, black tendrils of smoke rose in the distance. It was difficult to tell if it was a forest fire or burning village, but it was a large fire and maybe more than one. Aerham felt queasy, knowing that the fires were close to his home. Forest fires weren't uncommon. He had seen one when he was very young. Perhaps a landlord was clearing some trees to make more farmland. It wasn't the season for it, though. And there was so much smoke, spread so far.
After an hour of marching, they came upon a dozen commoners hiding in the bushes next to the road. Two of Ravyn's Might dragged a scrawny man into the road for Uth Garenthil to question him. His clothing was torn and soiled, bloody feet bare.
Aerham moved his mount close enough that he could hear.
"What are you fleeing from?" demanded the Brother from atop his horse.
"Sorry, lordship, we hid thinking you be one of them enemies." The man looked around nervously. He squinted at the lion banner. "You aren't, are you?"
"Fool. Who is attacking and where?"
"The soldiers landed this morning under darkness. They burned me house. They burned lots of houses. I done seen lots of bodies too. They be killing folks." The man stammered and pointed to the southwest.
"Who?" Uth Garenthil leaned forward on his mount. "Who is attacking?"
"Erinyr, lordship. Like always but worse this time." The man blinked repeatedly under the Brother's gaze. "Tis the third such attack this season. Twas two full ships landed. Not more 'n a hundred of them, I 'spose. I never saw more 'n twenty together."
Aerham swallowed hard. He could feel the blood draining from his face.
Uth Garenthil sat upright and waved a dismissive hand at the commoner. The two soldiers dragged him back to the roadside and rudely shoved him into a bush. He rolled and flopped on his stomach before jumping to his feet and scurrying away as fast as he could go. He realized he was running south, toward the smoke, and reversed direction. When he realized he was running back at the soldiers, he turned left and finally sprinted away.
Aerham shook his head. This couldn't be happening. A dangerous swamp, steep mountains, and the wizard-ruled country of Raujorn stood between Erinyr and Minogradia. He knew his histories. Erinyr and Minogradia had harassed one another's merchant vessels and launched small raids against coastal cities and villages. It was unusual for attacks to come in spring or summer. They usually attacked in the fall, just before winter; so if reprisals came, their enemy had to wait through a harsh winter beforehand, and maybe lose interest. Aerham remembered a call to arms when he had been ten years old. Seven Erinyrian war ships had been spotted near the coast and his father had gathered his private guards and moved to fortify the beach. A garrison of the king's soldiers arrived hours later, but the ships had sailed north. A few days later they had learned of three villages which had been razed to the ground and a lord's manor had been raided.
Today, it seemed the war ships had come ashore. Aerham remembered how confident his father had been on that day ten years ago, and it made him feel better about the black smoke ahead. Fortunately, they weren't far away and they could assist in driving away the invaders. They had a real army of one-hundred fifty men, after all. They even outnumbered the invaders, assuming the report had been accurate. Aerham envisioned his father barricaded behind the walls of his estate as the Brotherhood's army came to the rescue with him riding at the front, sword held high. Deivean would see him there, as well.
"Initiates, prepare to turn the column around," Uth Garenthil ordered hastily.
That would have them facing north, which was the wrong way. The road they were on wound around south and was the fastest route. Aerham felt he had to speak.
"My lord, aren't we going to defend Minogradia from the invaders?" He looked to the south, where he knew his father's estate to be; black smoke continued to billow into the sky. He resisted panic and the urge to ride furiously toward the smoke. He had his duty.
"Ah, so you have a tongue." Uth Garenthil raised his eyebrows and promptly dropped them in anger. "You have your orders, as well, Initiate. Now follow them."
"My lord, we are sworn to protect these people." Aerham knew he shouldn't argue with the Brother in front of all of the men. He feared a confrontation and forcing Uth Garenthil's ego to choose unwisely. He rode his horse next to his superior so he could speak in lower tones, though his anxiety twisted his stomach in knots.
"We must protect Minogradia. It is our duty," Aerham pleaded, in a low tone.
"Listen to me, Initiate," spoke Uth Garenthil, spitting the words and not bothering to whisper. "You will do as I say. Turn this column around."
There was a long moment as they stared into one another's eyes. Aerham could see the fear in his superior's pale face. He was fearful as well, but for the safety of those he loved.
"You would drink my father's wine and eat his meals, but not take your sword to help defend him?" Aerham's voice rose. His anger boiled over. He knew he should have kept his mouth closed. It had needed to be said, though.
"If Minogradia wanted the aid of the Brotherhood, they would not have withdrawn their troops and tithes," Uth Garenthil said loud enough for many to hear. "I hope the Erinyrians burn the whole country to the ground."
Many of the Ravyn's Might present had been recruited from Minogradia and the statement didn't sit well. There were many scowling faces among the soldiers.
"Besides, I am wearing my best armor," the Brother continued. "It costs a fortune to repair. And its hours to clean just the dust of battle, not to mention blood."
Aerham wanted to scream in outrage. The man was serious about not wanting to dirty his armor! It was insane. He couldn't believe that he had ever thought the man to be anything other than a liar and a coward.
"We must defend the good people of Minogradia! My father is loyal to the Brotherhood! He is a Brother of the Sun!" Aerham shouted. "You betray your own! You betray everything we stand for!" Spittle flew from his mouth as tears of rage blurred his eyesight. Leaders don't cry until the battle is over, his father had once told him. "You are a coward!"
"You offend my honor, you wretch! I will see you in irons!" Uth Garenthil grabbed Aerham's wrist. "Gendis, fetch irons for this fool. I have had enough of his insubordinate blather!"
"Coward!" Aerham screamed again as his face came close to that of the Brother. He spun his mount away and jerked his arm free. Uth Garenthil was pulled sideways before he could let go and fell to the road, landing hard on his side and raising a cloud of dust.
Gasping to regain his breath, the Brother wheezed, "Arrest him!"
Aerham's sword flashed from its scabbard and the bannermen stopped their horses as soon as they had started to ride forward. They knew they were no match.
Amazed and terrified at what he was doing, Aerham took one last look at the soldiers, many standing with jaws gaping. He spat at the bannermen in disgust, and frowned at Uth Garenthil, who struggled to his feet. Then he spurred his mount and headed south along the road raising a furious cloud in his wake. He heard Uth Garenthil ordering the bannermen to pursue, but he didn't look over his shoulder to see if they had. His eyes were focused on the black smoke ahead. He turned off of the road for a shortcut through a wooded area, branches smacking his face. If they were following, and lost sight of him, they would never be able to follow him through the woods.
His anger transformed into fear at what lay ahead of him. Was his father hurt? And what of his precious Deivean? He dared not think what enemy soldiers might do to her. He almost came to his senses as his chain mail hood tangled in a branch and was jerked from his head. He nearly fell backwards out of the saddle, but regained his hold, immediately refocusing on his race to reach his father's estate.
Aerham recognized many of the fields that he crossed. He had no idea how long he rode, only that it seemed like forever. Finally, he crested a high hill, and knew his father's walled estate was on the far side. He expected to see a four-story building with ornate decorations around the roof and windows, surrounded by a twelve-foot wall. A lush, flower garden should have filled most of the courtyard within the wall. There should have been apple orchards extending to the south, east, and west of the compound. That's what he should have seen.
Instead, Aerham saw blacked rubble and smoldering remains. The manor had been burned to the ground, as had most of the apple orchards. Tendrils of black smoke rose to the north and east, the villages of his father's tenants. Frantic, he rode hard to the remains of the manor. The corpses of slain guards and farmers littered the blackened soil; torn and burned flesh, faces frozen in horrified final moments. Had his father and betrothed escaped? His father had always been a wise man and resourceful. Surely, they had escaped. They had to have. The land had burned around his father and his soldiers had driven off the attackers. It should have happened that way.
Aerham rode his horse in a circle around the smoldering wood and blackened stones. There were many burned corpses that could have been one of his loved ones. His breathing came in short bursts and tears blurred his vision. It was possible they had escaped. He tried not to panic, scanning the faces of the dead. He recognized several of the house servants and private guardsmen which lay dead, but his anguished mind couldn't recall their names. The smoke stung his eyes but he forced them to stay open to desperately scan the faces of the bodies.
He looked down the hill towards the coast for the first time. Not far from the sandy beach, a good distance to the south, two large galleons floated in the ocean with their sails furled, flying no flags. A dozen long boats were on the beach and armored men swarmed around them, pushing them towards the waters. He tried to guess how many soldiers were there, but he couldn't concentrate. There were at least a hundred, he thought. They were going to return home. Did they have prisoners with them? Was his father among them? Deivean as well?
Dark clouds had drifted in from the sea and the first drops of rain began to fall.
Aerham pushed his mount down the trail that led to the beach. Three Erinyr soldiers walked along the base of the trail where the yellow sand of the beach began. They wore bronze breastplates, which was their trademark, along with leather skirts and greaves. Red plumes extended from the tops of their open-faced helmets. They each held a short bladed sword in their right hand and wore a small buckler shield on their left arm. Their shields and breastplates bore an emblem which he didn't recognize; a white circle with a red, four-point star in the center.
The light rain shifted to a heavy downpour. Large droplets striking Aerham's eyes, but he blinked them away.
Aerham rode hard at the three men. They heard the heavy hooves of the horse and looked up as he slashed the first man across the neck and shoulder, dark liquid spraying in the air. The man fell gurgling. Aerham continued twenty paces beyond them and turned his horse, glaring at them defiantly as he twirled his sword. The man's blood flung from the blade as it cut the air.
The two men stood their ground, casting glances at their dying companion. Aerham was only scarcely aware of what he had just done. He charged again, clashing swords with the larger of the two remaining men. He continued another twenty paces past and turned his mount. And again he charged. Again he clashed swords, but this time the second man spun around to strike his horse in the flank.
When Aerham stopped at twenty paces to turn yet again, his mount dropped over in the sand, pinning his leg underneath. As the two men charged at him, kicking sand in the air as they came, he squirmed free and staggered to his feet.
The rain thickened the sand, giving better footing. Aerham held his blade ready.
They were hardly swordsmen. They came at him side by side. Aerham blocked one blade with his sword and stepped around the man whose sword he had blocked, putting that man between him and the other. The second man tried to run around the front of the other to reach him. He kicked the first man out of the way and brought his blade up to catch the sword of the second man. He swiftly spun his blade and twisted the sword from the second man's hand. He wasted no time shoving his own sword through the defenseless man's chest and the man dropped to the ground, clutching the hole in his sternum, working his jaw soundlessly.
The first man was quick to his feet and now held his sword before him. His face betrayed his fear. His blue eyes were wide and scared. "Do you want to die?" screamed the Erinyrian as he swung his sword at the air. His hands shook. "I'll kill you, boy!"
Aerham stood in a defensive fighting stance, knees slightly bent, blade held steady before him. His blood rushed, but his mind was calm. Rain poured down his face. He did not blink. It was an eerie calmness which had washed over him. He still felt his anger raging, but it was as if he were watching the scene from somewhere far away. The soldier before him had almost no skill with the sword. The man was as good as dead. He just didn't know it.
The soldier shouted and charged. It was simple for Aerham to deflect the swing and give the man a knee to the groin, bending him over. Aerham sank his blade into the man's back and jerked it free.
The fight was over. Three men were face down, their precious life pouring into the sand.
The calmness filled Aerham. He considered his horse for a moment. It was on its side, kicking sand in the air. It would not live much longer. He should put it out of its misery but he did not have time. He continued along the beach toward the long boats, stumbling in the sand as he went.
All three long boats were now in the water. Men were hard at the oars, enduring the cool rain and fighting the surf. Aerham charged out into the water after them, but it was too deep already. He waded in water up to his armpits and the nearest boat still floated twenty paces away. The men aboard the nearest long boat shouted insults at him. He heard laughter. Several of the soldiers raised crossbows and took aim.
Aerham stopped when he finally had to accept through his madness that the water was far too deep. Water splashed around him. He knew it was from crossbow bolts but he didn't care. His eyes desperately scanned the long boats for any sign of his father or Deivean, seeing only Erinyrian soldiers. Pain exploded from his left shoulder and he blinked curiously at a shaft jutting from the wound. The calmness was burned away as his shoulder seemed to catch fire. Forgetting about the long boats and galleons, he stumbled back to the beach. Blood ran down his arm, beneath his chain mail sleeve, to pour from his wrist into the sand. It was not a heavy stream of blood, but it was steady. He knew he was dizzy from blood loss. What beach was he on?
Aerham sat in the sand, blinking at the red blood pouring from his shoulder. His mind reeled and he felt a wave of nausea. Then Deivean stood on the beach next to him in that same white gown. She was so beautiful. The breeze waved through her soft, golden hair. The rain pelted his face and blurred his vision, but he remembered how beautiful she was. She was trying to show him something. It was a silver bracelet. Where had she gotten that one?
No. He knew she was not there. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. He had nothing to grit against the pain in his heart. He closed his eyes to shut out the illusion from his addled brain.
He still had to find her. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be. He struggled to stand and search the beach, but the beach turned sideways and he dropped onto his side. His strength left him and his head became too heavy to lift. He panted and his lips touched wet sand. He had to find her. She had to be nearby. So did his father. They had to be. His vision darkened. He wanted to stay conscious. He could barely move. His eyelids became too heavy. His anger surged but it could not revive his numb limbs.
The darkness swallowed him, though he cursed it.