Knights of Aralia Book I: Remnants of Light

Chapter I-The Burning

“Father! Come look at this, quick!”

Ólund rushed to the side of his son, Amon.

“See there? Riders!” Amon went on, pointing toward the southeast road.

They were joined at once by Fordain, Amon’s elder brother by a whole ten minutes. He cast his gaze in the direction indicated by Amon and tried to discern the supposed horsemen from among the blurred colours of the fast-approaching twilight. Sure enough, there were shapes there, silhouetted against the forest by the fading daylight. Even with his less keen eyesight he could tell they were Imperial soldiers, based on their outlines and ordered manner. Yet, something about their uneven gait and hurried approach struck him as off. The dread gnawing at him expanded into an uncomfortable mass within the pit of his stomach, and his muscles tensed up instinctively. Something was not right.

Ólund had likewise been studying the oncoming shadows. He counted eighteen...nay, twenty total. The emblem on their armour looked right—an Imperial Eagle with wings outstretched. But it was the wrong colour. It was not gold, but white. His heart sank.

“What is it, father?” asked Fordain.

“The spawn of a demon,” he muttered without explanation. “Back to the house. Hurry!”

The three of them hastened toward the little farmstead just beyond the outer fringe of the village and ran inside without bothering to close the door. Thora, the boys’ mother, met them in the sitting room.

“What’s wrong?” she asked with the twang so common in this region.

“Horsemen. Raiders!” exclaimed Ólund.

“Primus Emprius?”

“Yes. Caltha must have fallen.”

“But surely they’d have warned us!”

“Only if any escaped.”

Thora breathed deeply and nodded solemnly. She embraced first Amon, then Fordain with remarkable calm.

“I’m sorry it must end so soon, my dearest sons. But alas, farewell. Be brave in the days to come.”

She then hurried away toward the rear of the house. Fordain and Amon found themselves looking this way and that, seeking desperately for a chance to ask the countless questions running through their heads. But there simply wasn’t time. Ólund turned to his sons.

“Flee toward the edge of the forest,” he told them. “Find a place to hide along the ridgeline and stay there. If you are spotted, make for the trees. Whatever happens to us or to the village, do not come to our aid. Not even if our lives are threatened. Keep yourselves concealed. Is that clear?”

Fordain nodded despite his confusion.

“But...”

“No backtalk, Amon! If we fall, someone must escape to warn others of our fate.”

Amon nodded too, and Ólund took a good last look at his sons before patting each warmly on the shoulder.

“I could not be prouder of what you have become,” he said with a flicker of a smile. “You will bring great honour to this tribe and to our people someday, I know.” A cry rang out from the village. “Now go!”

Fordain obeyed and made a hasty exit, Amon trailing reluctantly behind. Ólund watched them go and shook his head in what could only be described as awe.

“Arden guide you both,” he muttered before grabbing his old military gear from its place of display near the mantel and running to join Thora.

The two brothers shot out the back door and made their way south across the field toward the lane. They crossed the road and sped on up the hillside. Though he had always been swift, Fordain could not remember a time when he had run so far so fast. The tall, rough grasses opened up miniscule lesions as they whipped across the ruddy brown skin of his feet and legs. He came to a dip in the ground just thirty paces away from the forest’s edge and jumped into it, motioning for Amon to join him. The boys lay prone upon the ground, propping themselves up slightly on their elbows so they could see what happened below. Two large, fang-like rocks protruding upward from the grass further obscured their forms from view.

For several tense minutes they watched, side by side, as the riders came up to the settlement. One would hardly know they were twins, different as they were. They had the same stormy blue-grey eyes, bronze skin, and dark blond hair, but there the similarities ended. Amon was a bit taller, bulkier, and by most accounts the more handsome of the two. Fordain was not quite as striking, but was leaner and lither than his counterpart. In their attitudes, however, they were worlds apart.

By now the rest of the village was aware of the riders’ approach and reacted accordingly. Some attempted to flee across the open fields only to be stopped and led back by horsemen on the outer flanks. A brave few armed themselves for a fight. Some were ex-soldiers like their father, and so wore their old armour for the occasion. The rest were naked in the manner of a people to whom cloth was neither abundant nor requisite to modesty. But most merely cowered in their homes, hoping for the trouble to somehow pass them by.

The soldiers rode in at a slow canter from two sides, and while their arms were not yet drawn, one could hardly mistake this for a friendly social call. Another group came up along the southeast path escorting several enclosed wagons. Fordain counted himself and Amon very lucky not to have been spotted, having just crossed that path a moment before.

A final group of horsemen then came around on the south side of the village, completing the encirclement and making sure no one else escaped. The more courageous villagers stood in a cluster at the centre of the settlement as the soldiers halted at a sign from their apparent leader. When his men were in place, the lead rider spoke as one who had given the same speech many times:

“Hail, good people of this village Rodinia! In the name of the New Senate and its leader the Imperator, you have been liberated from your oppressors by the Primus Emprius. From this day forth you shall no longer serve the wicked and depraved men of the south. Men who have so long held your people in contempt as savage barbarians, rather than fellow citizens. Instead you shall join together with our noble leaders in the New Senate and their glorious cause to bring peace, order, and justice to this Republic of Emprius and to the world. As a token of our appreciation and sincerity, we bring much-needed provisions. For your own good and protection, we must ask that you and your families come out of your homes to allow us to take a proper inventory so we may distribute these supplies equitably. We thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

“And gladly do we cooperate!” came a shout from among those gathered. A short, unkempt man with black hair and a blacksmith’s tabard stepped forward.

“Ergos, you traitor!” exclaimed Fordain quietly.

Amon merely grinned smugly, as though no words were necessary to prove his side was right here. For it was well known that he, like many in Rodinia, sympathized with the rebellious Primus Emprius in spite of their father’s strict stance against it.

“We ought to go down and join them too,” he suggested, though neither made a move to do so.

The blacksmith, who was in fact the ringleader of the pro-rebel faction, continued:

“Long have we toiled for what we believed to be the greater good of Emprius and a better future for our people. But instead we have only served to make a few wealthy men in the central cities even wealthier. Men who come to our isolated corner of the map to help themselves to a cut of our labour, then turn a blind eye to our plight and heap scorn upon us for the rest of the year. We will gladly serve alongside the Imperator in his quest to reclaim what is ours by right!”

The lead rider nodded ever so slightly.

“And a welcome addition you shall be to our cause, good smithy,” he said. “Let all those who would stand by us willingly come to this side.”

About half of the villagers went over to stand beside the Primus Emprius without question.

“Be warned, the rest of you may suffer severe consequences should you remain defiant.”

“Your threats do not sway us, Captain,” responded Ólund, whose appearance in uniform was imposing despite his age. He had lost very little of his musculature over the years, and his voice still echoed of his days in command of an entire cohort. “We of the Noronir may not have much left to our name, ‘tis true. But we have enough to survive, and we owe our souls to none but our creator. We are content to remain under our own governance, even if these others are not. Let them join you if they will, then begone! You’ll have neither our bodies nor these lands that are hallowed by the bones of our ancestors, whatever you and your traitorous New Senate might say.”

“You know not of what you speak!” said the leader in as forceful a tone as he could muster. His modified Imperial helmet gave his voice a metallic resonance that was impressive given his diminutive stature. “We serve the true line of Emprius. Those who labour every day in the hope of a better tomorrow. Those like yourself, good chieftain. Join us, and you need not spend your days toiling for the profit of others merely to keep these lands which are, as you say, rightfully yours.”

But Ólund stood his ground firmly. “I know perfectly well what I say. Anyone who would impose his will upon others under threat of force is a tyrant, however noble his ambitions. We are Noronir, yes, but we are likewise citizens of Emprius. And it is written in the constitution of this Republic of Emprius that we shall resist such intent in like manner if necessary.”

He drew his short sword and raised his oval shield. At this cue, the remaining villagers raised their weapons, however primitive, in defiance of the interlopers. The officer’s tone changed accordingly.

“Very well. Then you will die like the loyalist rats you are. We cannot help those who will not help themselves.” He addressed his command. “Execute the armed dissenters. Leave the rest unharmed.”

At this order, several soldiers dismounted and closed in on their quarry, weapons drawn. The foremost one, wielding a short sword, approached Ólund as if to jab him. As he acted, however, he found himself swiftly flung onto his back, disarmed. Ólund then finished off his grounded attacker. A fearsome melee ensued, in which a number of villagers and soldiers alike were felled. Ólund and Thora were at the very heart of this conflict, warding off blows from every direction and countering with a few of their own.

The two brothers watched from atop the ridge in awe. They had known their father and some of their neighbours were well trained in the art of warfare. But the idea that their mother, so kind and soft-spoken on most occasions, could wield a blade so effectively was a complete shock to them, even if she had once served in the Home Defence Legion. Fordain felt his heart quicken as he watched the spectacle of battle unfold for the first time in his life, and had to fight the instinctive urge to run down and join in even unarmed as he was. Yet, he forced himself to remain here and watch, wondering if Amon was beginning to share his sentiments about the rebels.

Even without the advantages of horses, armour, or abundant weapons, the Noronir offered up strong resistance. Yet, the leader of this raiding party did not seem at all concerned, having brought reinforcements aplenty. As a few more went down, he waved in another group of horsemen. These ones came forward armed with bows and began unleashing volleys into the defiant peasants. With ruthless efficiency they cut the number of villagers resisting dramatically, leaving a few isolated individuals to take on the whole lot by themselves. Soon Ólund and Thora were the only two remaining, and the Imperials closed in on them with overwhelming force. Ólund evaded a couple of thrusts aimed at his uncovered feet, then countered with a s***h to one attacker’s leg. Ere he could do more, the others had joined in the contest and piled onto him, puncturing with spear and sword alike until he writhed no more and fell lifeless to the trampled, bloodied earth. It was a gruesome spectacle, yet Fordain could not but watch it all in horrified fascination. Beside him, Amon also watched, though his expression gave away nothing.

Thora tried to join in, fighting with words as well as weapons, but her insults were cut short by an arrow from the company’s archers. She lurched back and fell to her knees, gasping for air. As the leader drew his sword and walked over to finish her off, she managed to say with her last ragged breath, “Long live the Emperor!” The leader then ended her pain quickly and efficiently.

“Brief live the fools who defy the march of progress,” he said, wiping his blade off before replacing it in its scabbard. He gave a bored sigh. “Now then, let’s have some order around here. And get Ebro back on his horse.”

But no sooner had two soldiers assisted their wounded comrade back to his mount than another ruckus broke out. It emanated from the direction of the mill and the house attached to it. Heavy smoke was drifting out from the windows, and the newly widowed miller’s wife stepped out bearing a torch in each hand.

“You win the battle, but you won’t have Rodinia!” she cried. And with that, she hurled one torch across the street, where it landed on the roof of a house. It caught as only dry thatch could. She touched the other to the eaves of her already burning home, then tossed it onto the nearby blacksmith’s forge.

“No!” cried a horrified Ergos.

“Stop her!” ordered the raiding party leader. They promptly riddled the miller’s widow with arrows, but they hadn’t noticed her eldest son run around behind the buildings setting roofs ablaze as he went. Fordain smiled bitterly at the boy’s audacity until he, too, was brought down by a volley.

“Put those fires out!” cried the leader frantically. “Now!”

Villagers and soldiers alike scrambled to fetch water from the central well, but the flames were already far ahead of them, abetted in their destructive path by a westward shift in the wind. Soon just about every building was alight and glowing brightly. It wasn’t long before the officer threw down the cloak he was using to try and dampen down the fires out of sheer frustration.

“It’s too late!” he cried. “We’ll just have to rescue what we can.”

Panicked villagers ran around trying to haul out what furnishings and valuables they could from their dwellings while a rider sped away up the southeast road. Fordain gazed upon the unfolding chaos in anger and utter perplexity. How could something like this possibly happen? What had they done to merit such desolation? Neither question could he answer. He cast a glance at Amon, who as yet showed no emotion, though he could not yet tear his eyes away from the spectacle.

Several more wagons then came rolling down the southeast road, each pulled by a pair of bulky workhorses. They stirred up a lot of dust as they trotted to a halt in the centre of the village where the bodies lay strewn about. With Ergos advising them on who the loyalists were and weren’t, the soldiers rounded up the survivors, binding the limbs of the former and tossing them none-too-gently into the backs of what appeared to be prison wagons with barred windows. They then went back to salvage what they could from the flames. The collaborating Rodinians stood by and watched with evident glee as their loyalist neighbours finally got what was coming to them, tempered though it was by the loss of their own property. They had said this day was coming, but the fools would not listen.

A few Primus Emprius troops sank to stripping the corpses of anything useful, both Noronir and their own. Fordain shook his head in disgust as the leader himself inspected Ólund’s sword and scabbard. The blade, though still sharp, was far from new, and the scabbard somewhat tatty from all its use in the old days. Nevertheless, the Primus Emprius was not a choosy organization when it came to their equipment, and he passed it to a subordinate to load up with the rest. With this, the soldiers finished stacking anything of use into the wagons, then looked to their leader for orders.

“May as well throw them in,” he said, indicating the corpses that were once the parents, friends, and neighbours of Fordain and Amon. “It’ll save us the trouble of burying them.”

This was done, and the soldiers said a collective prayer consigning their fallen comrades to the flames. They remained rooted in place for a moment afterward, transfixed as the whole village was consumed by fire, then looked to their mounts.

“Such is the fate of any who would bar the will of the people!” proclaimed the leader before turning back to his own horse. Fordain was now alight with fury on the inside. Red mists gathered before his eyes, tempting him to charge forth and attack the enemy while they were distracted. The scent of burning hickory and the wails of several villagers infused him with a violent and vengeful rage that was difficult to quell. For though they had not started the fire themselves, these soldiers were nevertheless the cause of it. Their very presence was an affront to him.

He fought hard not to lose his sense of reason, grasping tightly the circular amulet that had hung around his neck for most of his youth as though seeking guidance from the souls of his ancestors to whom it had belonged. What, he asked himself, could he do against so many foes at once, unarmed as he was? He would end up just like his father or those villagers in the backs of the wagons. But reason had an uphill fight in one of his bloodline. Then came the final straw.

A sonorous whinnying erupted from the family barn as the wind carried the flames to its roof. The officer gestured wildly at the structure, though his words were lost in the bedlam. Soldiers came rushing toward the commotion and Fordain’s heart nearly froze. Solus was his family’s one and only remaining horse, a remnant of the line his mother’s family had brought with them from their home country several generations ago. He hated the idea of Solus perishing amidst the flames with everything else, but wondered if it might not be a better fate than service to the Primus Emprius.

They entered the barn. More whinnying followed, and Solus burst forth into the open air, several soldiers hot on his heels. The mighty steed was giving them no end of trouble. As two tried to rope him from the front, he reared up and delivered a crippling kick to one, dodging the rope of the other. With more closing in, though, the horse didn’t stand a chance, so Fordain did the only thing he could through the haze of fury clouding his senses.

Ere Amon could stop him, he stood straight up and shouted at the soldiers to “Leave him alone, you cowards!”

The momentary distraction was enough. Solus stamped and snorted angrily, then took off towards the woods to the north as fast as his powerful legs could carry him. A couple of soldiers made a pretense to give chase, but were checked by their leader.

“Let him go,” he ordered. “That one’s a Ralgarian. We’ll never catch him. Get those two up there, quickly!”

Fordain watched with simultaneous pain and satisfaction as his family’s horse—the one destined to belong to him in a matter of days—disappeared into the shadows of the distant trees. But of more immediate concern were the three riders coming straight for him and Amon.

“Come on! To the trees like father said!” urged Amon, tugging at his brother’s arm.

Fordain obliged despite his instinct to stand and fight, and took the lead in their flight. They were nearly to the trees when Amon tripped upon a rock and fell. He quickly sat up and began rubbing at his ankle.

“What is it?” asked Fordain, kneeling beside him.

“My ankle. I think I sprained it.”

“Well, come on, mate. They’re closing in.”

Fordain made to help him up, but Amon shook his head.

“You go on without me.”

“What? No!”

“Go on, Fordain! Get out of here, or they’ll catch you too.”

Fordain could see he was right. The riders were nearly at the top of the hill. With a deep breath, he nodded.

“I promise I’ll come for you.”

Amon shrugged. “Whatever. Now go!”

Fordain hurried off into the underbrush. Not a couple seconds later, two of the horsemen stopped to take hold of Amon, who did not even pretend to resist. Fordain did not see what happened next, as he was too busy running from the third. In the forest, he was sure he could lose a mounted man easily. All he needed was a proper place to hide. He was not as familiar with these woods as he was with the ones to the north, so he had to do a bit of searching. Eventually, he decided to simply climb one of the trees whose spring growth was further along than the rest and wait there.

The rider worked his way through some of the clearer patches, but eventually it grew too dense for further pursuit. He stopped to scan the foliage one last time, then turned back to join his comrades. Fordain waited until the sound of hoofbeats died away completely, then began to work his way back down. He had to get back and see what was going on in the village. Not that he could stop it, but it might provide some useful information nonetheless. Had he kept his mind on the present task, he would have noticed the next limb was too small to support his weight.

Crack!

A whir of leaves was all Fordain saw as down he went, twigs prodding and scratching his body along the way. To the ground level and farther still he fell, as though the very earth had opened up to swallow him whole. He had not the chance to take in more ere his head hit a protruding tree root and darkness enveloped his sight.