Severed Destinies (13 page)

Saroth turned his gaze back to the road. He had learnt not to linger on thoughts of those no longer of this world. No Rotians would reach Turambar, be they men, women or children. Having not seen any more Rotians of late, he was beginning to understand that those three had been the only ones able to flee in time this way.

The attack on Boraila was the key to their success and it was important that he ensured no alarm was raised with the soldiers at the fortress.

Chapter 10

The bridge over the Ulmerien was clear.

Khir looked across at Gorric, who still seemed too pale. It had taken a long while for Gorric to come to after passing out before in the copse of trees. Since then, with only water and some meager pieces of food - mainly a single small loaf of bread which had been given to them by one of the Barentin women as they fled the town together - the four of them were beginning to suffer. Gorric was strong-willed but his body was crying out for food and sleep, as were the others.

They had moved northwest from the copse and had reached the bridge later than they had originally planned, due to Gorric falling unconscious. Now, it was early morning and they could see the bridge just ahead of them. None of the invading soldiers stood guard there and the way across seemed clear.

"I don't understand," frowned Varayan. "Why are there no men stationed here?"

"Let's take a look," said Gorric, moving toward the bridge.

Khir noticed that Gorric's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Apart from his hunting knife, Khir had no real means of defending himself and realised that in a fight, Gorric was their only hope of survival. With his friend not being well, if they were attacked, they would have no chance of getting out alive.

They jogged to the bridge and Gorric began walking across, his pace broken by occasional staggering.

"Wait," called Khir, crouching down.

Gorric turned and sighed. "What is it?"

Khir studied the ground for a moment, running his hand across it occasionally, then he looked up at the others. "Many horses and men have gone across this bridge recently."

"How many would you say?" asked Rynn.

Khir glanced at the acolyte and shrugged. "I can't tell, but I'd say that a large number of those soldiers came this way."

"We don't even know how many there were in Barentin that night," said Gorric quietly. "We saw many in the square, plus others at the docks. Are you saying that they all came this way?"

Khir could see the concerned expression on his friend's ashen face and realised that it matched his own. "I think they did. I'm not as good at tracking as my father."

"So what you're saying is that it could have been tens or it could have been hundreds," said Varayan, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Khir chose to ignore the thief and set off across the bridge after Gorric. Rynn turned to Varayan and leant in close.

"You saved my life, Varayan, and I will always be in your debt for that, but why must you be so difficult all the time?"

Varayan regarded the acolyte coldly. "Don't forget that I also tried to steal your coins," he said.

Rynn shook his head. "I don't understand you. What made you help me that night anyway?"

"Instinct, I guess," Varayan shrugged. "Not a very smart move now that I think back on it." He grinned. "Then again, now you're in my debt as you say."

Rynn rolled his eyes and started across the bridge after Gorric and Khir. Varayan stood watching them for a moment. Truth be told, he still did not know why he had saved Rynn's life and that made him uneasy. He had never cared about people, so what had possessed him to risk his life that way. Gorric and Khir had been ready to turn him into the local guards in Barentin. They did not trust him and he did not trust them. Rynn however was not so judgmental and seemed to have a bizarre natural trust that appealed to Varayan. The acolyte was probably just naïve.

The thief shook his head. Soon, they could part ways and he could leave their company behind and begin again. He understood that travelling with them was wise at this time, but he longed to be on his own again. The thought that perhaps he had been on his own too long entered his mind. Reluctantly, he followed them across the bridge.

On the other side, they stopped to look around. The road to Tamriel stretched out to the northwest, whilst lesser trails ran off to the north and southwest. Khir examined the tracks again and pointed out that they continued towards his home town.

"There's a fishing village just southwest of here," stated Gorric. "We're all hungry, so hopefully we can find some food there."

"Shouldn't we get to Tamriel as soon as possible?" asked Khir, anxious to return home.

Gorric stared northwest for a moment and then turned to face Khir. "You know as I do, that if these men continued on that road, they'll reach Tamriel. There's no way we can get there before them on foot, but if we can find some horses in the village then there's a chance. It's not far."

Khir nodded. "Let's go then." He headed southwest.

Varayan and Rynn glanced at each other, both understanding that it was more than likely these foreign invaders were on their way to Gorric and Khir's home. When the other two were out of earshot, Varayan sighed.

"What good could we do in Tamriel?" he asked Rynn. "We're hungry and tired. I don't look forward to another meeting with those soldiers."

Rynn scowled at him. "You're thinking of yourself again." He nodded his head at Khir and Gorric. "Their families are in Tamriel. Wouldn't you try to help your own kin?"

"My own kin aren't worth saving," spat Varayan. "I'd rather stay at this village anyway." He saw the troubled look on Rynn's face. "What?"

"If this army continues west, it would eventually reach Boraila, my home.”

Varayan found himself without a response. What could he possibly say to Rynn anyway? He watched the acolyte follow the other two. Perhaps he should just remain at this fishing village and let the three of them continue on. If their fears were justified, then Tamriel would fall just as Barentin did and Varayan did not want to see that sort of destruction again. As he moved off after the others, his mind was filled with the image of one particular foreigner waiting for him in Tamriel, eager to get his revenge on the young thief for scarring him across the face.

Traitor
.

The word echoed in Talgan's mind as he awoke suddenly, sitting up in his bed. The dream had been so vivid and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Vylandor had been burning. The homes, the piers at the docks and even the king's palace had been blackened and charred by the flames. The image of it was still so fresh in his mind. Dark figures had been charging through the streets, killing all who stood in their way. Blurred in the dream-state, others had been stood surrounding Talgan. He knew them to be the members of the council, but could not see their faces. In unison, all of the faceless figures had pointed at him and cried out '
traitor
'.

Trying to shake the nightmare from his head, Talgan threw back his bedcovers and stood shakily. The bedroom was cold and he quickly wrapped a nearby robe around himself then walked to the window that overlooked the main street outside.

The moon was bright tonight and illuminated the street in a silvery light, which mixed with the orange glow from the lanterns. This made the usually mundane street seem beautiful in a strange way. This street was the backbone of Vylandor. It ran the length of the city, from the eastern gates to the docks on the west side. Talgan could not recall whether this had been one of the streets in his dream, but he turned away as the images of those dark murdering figures crept back into his mind.

The coming months would be a difficult time. His foreign associates would have set their plan in motion by now and this frightened him immensely. Somewhere to the north, these foreigners were preparing to seize control of the Rotian Kingdom. All those in the capital were blissfully unaware of what was transpiring, but soon they would know. Had he made the right choice though? When he had agreed to help them, did he really understand fully what would happen? He had hoped that their solution might have been a peaceful one, but he should have realised that this would never be the case. They were a malevolent people, harsh and violent. Blood would be spilt and all blame would be on Talgan. He had come to realise that, if he had refused to help them, then he would most likely be dead now.

He thought of the noble council and King Afaron. They would not simply sit back and let the foreigners take Vylandor. They would expect Talgan to fight alongside them, but to do so would mean certain death. Perhaps he should leave Vylandor now, telling the council that he was wanting to travel whilst things were quiet in the city. Talgan shook his head at that idea. They would know for certain then that he had something to do with the coming struggle for power. No, he would remain in Vylandor for now.

He cast his thoughts back to the most-recent meeting with Afaron, when the king had told the council of his plans to strengthen the Rotian military. Training had been increased in Vylandor and some of the other regions. The king had been due to travel to Naskador, Kariska and Karthain in the coming months, but his plans had apparently been delayed. If Afaron went to Naskador now, he would be too close to the northlands for Talgan's liking. He may not have agreed with the king's way of ruling the kingdom, but he did not want the man dead.

With a deep sigh, the nobleman returned to his bed. In the morning, he would go and visit the training barracks near the docks, to see what the changes had been. As he began drifting back to sleep, he wondered what he could possibly do to delay the training of more soldiers.

Chapter 11

Gorric blinked in disbelief as he looked around.

They had seen the smoke rising from Tamriel from quite a distance away. After heading to the fishing village on the banks of the Ulmerien, the four Rotians had been given food and horses by the people there, who had quickly recognised Gorric as Celestius Orgillian's son. A stabbing pang of grief had struck Gorric's heart when someone had asked how his father was faring. Fearing for these villagers, Gorric and Khir had told them of the sudden invasion and told them to head south as quickly as possible.

Realising that there was nothing to be gained by staying in the village, Varayan had opted to stay with the three men he had been travelling with for the last few days as they left for Tamriel. Gorric and Khir were experienced riders, whilst Varayan had only ridden once back in Ashgar when fleeing the city guards and Rynn had never ridden at all. As they rode, Khir gave the two less-experienced men aid whilst Gorric never looked back and rode hard for his home. The tracks of the invading force were two days or so ahead of them by Khir's reckoning.

Gorric had reached Tamriel first as the day's light began to fade, with the others arriving minutes after. The scene before him now was one of horrific familiarity. Buildings that he remembered walking past along the main street had been burnt. Bodies could be seen littering the streets, men who Gorric had seen and talked to on a daily basis.

Tears welled in his eyes through grief and the thick smoke blowing along the street. His home was gone. Tamriel had been destroyed, just as Barentin. The foreigners had swept through the town just as they had before, burning and killing without mercy. The guards in Tamriel would have been even less of a concern for the invaders than those of Barentin had been.

Khir rode up alongside his friend. "I…I can't believe it," he muttered.

Gorric looked up to the darkening sky above and the moon that was slowly rising to cast it's silvery hue over the terrible scene before them. He could not find the words to try and comfort Khir. Behind him, he heard Rynn whisper a prayer to Ardan.

"It's no use speaking to Ardan," came Varayan's voice, edged with sadness. "He didn't listen to these people."

"My parents," cried Khir suddenly, putting his heels to his horse's flank. He raced away towards his home.

Gorric thought of his own family at the other end of the town, but realised that Khir's house was in the same direction. He glanced at Rynn and Varayan.

"Follow me, but keep your eyes open," he told them. He had no doubt that the foreigners had moved on again but it was possible that some were still here, salvaging goods and stealing possessions once belonging to the people of Tamriel.

Gorric headed after Khir, who had vanished from sight already. Rynn and Varayan looked at each other anxiously, then they too followed awkwardly on their steeds.

When they finally caught up with Khir, they found him standing before the smouldering remains of his home. The walls had crumbled and the strong timber supports were blackened and looked ready to fall. The only recognizable feature was the fireplace, although the chimney had fallen, covering the floor with rubble.

Gorric sighed and turned his head to look along the street. In the dimming light, he could not see to the very end, where his family's estate stood.

"There's nothing left," came Khir's voice softly.

"I'm sorry, Khir," said Gorric, still looking along the street.