The forest outside surged as a strong gust blew over the castle ramparts and down into the courtyard below, kicking up dust as it raced across the ground and slammed into Terk. Undisturbed, he entered the Calm and embraced the wind. At once, he became in tune with its every movement, and felt the breeze through his hair and the grains of dirt pelt his face. He inhaled deeply, took a step back, and in one quick movement raised his sword in a flowing arc, matching the speed of the gust. He bonded the Airiya he just inhaled and took control of the air. For a moment, he was aware of a small piece of his soul leaving his body. It was impossible to describe which part exactly had left, only that he was less whole. To him that piece wasn’t really gone though. After all, he was one with the wind; and the wind one with him.
Once completing the arc with the practice blade, Terk lunged forward and immediately the gust circled around his body and flew in unison with his attack. The air condensed around the blade, becoming a weapon itself. Once in range, he sliced upwards towards his target, a much taller man wielding a baton in each hand. The faint white glow of Airiya emitted from his opponent’s hands enveloping the batons, and with a gentle swing, the lanky man deflected both Terk’s sword and the wind to the side. Like a river keeping its momentum around a bend, Terk brought the sword and the wind back around in another fluid arc while keeping his balance. It took a great deal of concentration to keep the wind flowing in time with his swings, but the push and pull of the air accelerated his movements to a level far greater than any normal swordsman.
Terk took a deep breath and rebounded with another attack, this time bonding more Airiya than before. His opponent was right-handed, so Terk swung to the man’s left side. Although he was quicker than his opponent, the man was still able to block the strike, and Terk’s sword glanced down to the side. He converted the deflected swing into another arc back, but before he could complete the motion, a baton flashed forward. Moving with the grace and discipline gathered from years practicing the Cycles, Terk spun downward into Forlorn Fern, narrowly avoiding a smack in the face. Within the Calm, he felt the presence of the other baton coming at him, forcing him to break out of his rhythm with the wind to somersault out of harm’s way. Quickly rising, he locked eyes with his opponent.
“I almost didn’t block that last one,” Detra said.
If he was worried about getting hit, he didn’t show it. Terk thought he even caught a glimpse of amusement in that long face of his. They had been sparring for well over a half hour now, and the man had barely cast, let alone broken a sweat. His dark hair still rested neatly on his shoulders, and he had remained in Elusive Elm since they started, only moving to counter. Terk on the other hand felt his thin shirt clinging to his back, completely saturated.
Without letting his guard down, the man smirked. “You announce your attacks like a charging bull. At least try to be a little unpredictable.”
Terk swallowed hard. Harsh as always.
A loyal knight of the Dainish Royal Guard for almost twenty years, Detra Rost proved to be one of the toughest teachers Terk had come across. He was an adept fighter, and certainly a master Wind Knight, maybe even the best in the nation. It was difficult to land a hit when the man had twenty years of experience and could predict all of Terk’s attacks.
“Remember your training, the wind isn’t always relentless. Learn when to harness that speed!”
Terk gripped the hilt of the wooden sword with both hands and raised it near his cheek pointing it towards the master, blade parallel to the ground. With a deep breath, he assessed the situation. There was no way for his sword to win against those batons in a close quarter attack. But no matter how fast he was with the wind, there was little chance for success if Detra could foresee his every move. Clearing his mind, he entered the Calm again. The air was barely moving now, the trees outside silent. Remember my training . . . Know when to strike. Suddenly a strong gust ripped across the courtyard. Terk barely noticed the banners high above the castle walls strain their tethers, nor the clattering of practice swords as a stand blew over along the base of the wall. Then, as quickly as it came, the gust abruptly left, leaving the courtyard in silence once more. That’s the moment.
Terk felt the wind pick up again and inhaled sharply, taking control of the surrounding air. Rushing towards Detra with the wind at his back, he struck with a flurry of blows. His blade danced in constant motion, a whirlwind of movement. Terk maintained his distance, never allowing his body to fall within range of those batons. Although strained, the master kept up with the attacks, parrying each one as it came near. With each breath, Terk bonded even more Airiya. I must press him. The wind howled around him in a tempest, in unison with his swings, moving ever faster. Detra deflected the attacks, but at a cost. To match Terk’s speed, he now was casting considerably more Airiya than before. Both of their bodies shone a bright white light.
Once more Terk drew in another sharp breath, coming dangerously close to his limits. His vision narrowed, and he knew his mind would soon dull as he expended more of his soul.
With great effort he kept the wind moving just a moment before his blade could follow. Any loss of focus would cause him to completely lose control of his casting and throw him off balance in the raging storm. Along with the mental challenges, this amount of casting wasn’t sustainable for long. He had to find his opening quickly.
Detra reached his casting limits as well, his body no longer able to match Terk’s speed. Instead, he relied on predicting Terk’s every move, preparing a block just before the attacks came.
The time is now.
Continuing the same fluid motion as before, Terk aimed his next attack at Detra’s head but made sure to let his blade trail behind the wind even more this time. As expected, the master saw the shifting wind and prepared to block the incoming attack. In mid-swing however, Terk broke off rhythm with the wind, letting the piercing gale continue its trajectory headwards, while his sword aimed downward towards his opponent’s chest.
The trick worked.
Detra couldn’t block both the wind and the blade. With a loud crack, Terk’s sword slammed into the man’s torso, and with a satisfied grin, Terk let go of the remaining Airiya.
“Finally got you!”
“You sure?” Detra looked down, face stern with anger. He had yet to let go of his Airiya. In one quick motion he dropped a baton, clamped his arm around the sword, and pulled hard on the blade. Terk, both hands still gripping the hilt, toppled forward off balance. As he fell, he felt the swift smack of a baton across his back and his face hit the dirt.
The Calm shattered instantly, and in its place, a dull pain spread across his nose and back. Breathing heavily, he attempted to get up, but his arms wavered, and he fell back down. The effects of his casting came in full force.
“To think that you’d be so cocky to lower your guard just because you landed a single hit! You disgrace not only me but the entire Royal Guard! I know they taught you better in Byron!”
The voice sounded distant to Terk. He tried to focus on the words, but his mind wandered too quickly to comprehend what Detra was trying to tell him.
“I don’t know why I’m even bothering . . . It’s not like you can understand me in that state.”
Slowly he rolled onto his back. “. . . sorry master.”
What am I sorry for?
The master walked over to pick up the tumbled stand of practice swords. He propped the stand back up and took out a sword with his left hand. With a quick motion, he turned and tossed the blade at Terk. Terk tried to catch it, but his arm reacted too slowly, and the sword fell clumsily on top of him.
“Look at you, can’t even catch, let alone fight anymore.”
Bit by bit, memories of the fight trickled back into Terk’s mind, and the tiredness began to fade. He rubbed the already present welt along his back and grimaced. “. . . I was pushing my limits there.”
Without looking back at him, Detra spoke softer, “I’ll admit though, that was a clever move. Certainly flawed, but clever, nonetheless. Your speed is incredible . . . as always, you show great potential. It’s a difficult task to wield both sword and wind as two separate entities. Was that your first time doing so?”
Terk looked at Detra puzzled. Did I do something special? “The idea sort of came to me in the moment. Is it a common technique?”
“When you were beginning to learn the Cycles, you practiced the sword and castings independently did you not?”
Terk nodded. “Of course. That’s how everyone is taught, and after months of mastering each, we slowly learned to merge the two together.”
“Exactly. Eventually it becomes second nature to move in time with your castings. After years of practicing the Cycles, separating the two, especially at the speed you were moving, is no easy feat. It takes a malleable mind. Only a few amongst us have ever mastered the art.”
A malleable mind? Moving in unison with the wind took a considerable amount of mental control. For most, the technique eventually becomes instinctual. How hard is it to break an instinct?
The master looked up over the walls. “Now imagine what you could do with your speed and another decade’s worth of training that technique. Might even surpass my skills.”
Detra slid his batons under his belt and shook his head. “But currently, you are too rash . . . you need to learn to conserve your strength. That trick worked on a one-on-one matchup, but what if there are multiple foes attacking the prince?”
Terk felt his face flush. It was true. What good was he as a guard if he burnt himself out on the first threat in front of him?
“Hey Terk! Are you just going to sit around all day?”
Terk sighed and turned to see a young woman with almond colored hair standing in a stone archway that led towards the main keep. This is the last thing I need right now.
Katrina Hawkins wore the deep green uniform of the Royal Guard, but despite the formal appearance, Terk could only see his former classmate. Both had been the top of their class at the academy in Byron and were appointed to Prince Oren’s Royal Guard a year ago, some of the youngest to ever hold the position. She gave him a playful smile and started towards them.
Detra laughed. “Isn’t that all he ever does Katrina?”
“Isn’t that what we’re all doing here?” Terk muttered, unamused.
The master shot him a glance. He didn’t mean for anyone to hear that, but it was the truth. They had been stationed in Ryne since the start of the war, doing nothing but help the prince oversee the supply chain down to Grael.
Katrina ignored his comment.
“Well, you better get up soon. A shipment of troops is returning this afternoon, and Oren wants us down at the river by the thirteenth to welcome them.”
His stomach tightened. Another one already? This was the third one this month.
“We only have a few hours before they arrive, so I suggest you two go clean up. Especially you Terk. Can’t have a Royal Guard looking like some alley beggar.” She grinned before turning away quickly and striding off, leaving them alone in the courtyard once more.
Detra smirked and reached out a hand to help Terk up. “Come on, let’s go before we both get scolded.”
It’s going to be a long afternoon . . .
* * *
Terk clasped the necklace and looked down at the Airacite hanging from the silvery chain. His brother’s clear gemstone felt cool against his bare skin. Some days it was difficult to wear. Today was one of those days.
He sighed and began getting dressed. He fastened the last button on his vest and reached for his jacket. After sliding it on, he looked himself over in a full height mirror. Usually wearing the uniform filled him with pride, but today he only felt guilt. There he stood dressed perfectly; not a speck of dirt nor stain blemished his outfit.
A sharp knock came at his door.
“You ready in there?” Katrina called from the other side.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he replied. He quickly attached his longsword to his sword belt and swung open the door.
“Let’s go. Detra is waiting for us outside, and Jude is already at the wharf with the prince,” she said leaning against the stone corridor wall, one hand rested on the pommel of the sword on her side. Her face was calm and stoic. Gone was the smile she had just hours ago. How does she remain so collected?
“How many ships do we have to welcome until we go fight ourselves, Katrina?” Terk said as he shut the door. No response came. He turned to see her staring hard at him.
“Do you think the prince enjoys our situation either? The pain is clear on Oren’s face with each day he isn’t out there avenging his brother, but somebody has to oversee operations here in Ryne.”
Terk froze. That was twice now today he’s made a fool of himself.
“Everybody has their role to play in this war. Come on, let’s go do ours,” she said starting down the hallway.
In silence they made their way out of the keep, climbing down a narrow stair tower, passing through a large hall, before finally exiting into a lush courtyard lined with large maples.
Just as Katrina said, Detra was waiting for them. The master looked down at his timepiece and shook his head.
“Let’s hurry. We’re already late.”
Quickly, the three of them passed under the castle gate and followed a cobbled road down towards the city, walking at a brisk pace. Thick canopies of oak and hickory shaded most of the trail, forming a peaceful tunnel of trees. Even here at the outskirts of the Whitewind Forest, the familiar whistle of the breeze filled Terk’s ears.
After a half hour’s hike, the trees finally gave way to a wide view down the hill. The glare from the midday sun shimmered across the wide Arnel. Various ships dotted the river – hopefully none were carrying soldiers quite yet. Along the riverbank lay the small city of Ryne. Well, small in his opinion. Truthfully, it was a decently sized trade city along the Arnel and served as the main distribution center for imports coming from Madai. However, it failed to compare in beauty and scale with that of his home, Byron.
Ryne didn’t even have city walls. Rather, buildings diminished in size as the city sprawled away from the riverbank until only shacks and farmhouses remained. Even as the buildings gathered towards the center of the city, most were only a few stories tall at most. From this height Terk could see the central plaza which held the only two prominent buildings in the city — the local temple and bank.
The Temple’s stark white walls, braced by arched buttresses, stood four stories tall, and red quarry tile clad the pitched roof. Its tall bell tower rose higher than anything else in the city.
On the other side of the plaza, the Bank of Roots dominated the surrounding inns and shops. Its dark green and grey marble columns supported a heavy pitched roof which formed a central entrance.
They continued along the road down a series of switchbacks. As they approached the city, wild shrubbery transitioned into orderly rows of wheat that gently swayed in the wind, and small farmhouses that dotted the rolling landscape. Eventually they passed through a small wooden fence that marked the official city limits.
It hadn’t taken Terk long to become familiar with Ryne. Within a few months, he visited every tavern in town hoping to find anything like the ones back home. None of them compared of course, but a few were worth visiting occasionally. The Copper Shoe grilled the best steak in the city, and Sam’s Pub served a decent stew. On their few days off, Detra would often suggest an afternoon at Velvet Skies Winery located just east of the city. Most of their time in Ryne, however, was filled with either following the prince or helping organize shipments.
Soon enough, they walked through the central plaza and down to the river. A series of tall wooden warehouses sat along the stone wharf. Various vessels lined the wharf, many already moored and in the process of being loaded. A large crowd had gathered, patiently awaiting the fleet of soldiers. Dockmen carted crates and barrels around the people towards the ships where crewman hauled the supplies up via castings, emitting faint orange glows.
Terk frowned at the sight of so many ships being loaded. Just a few months ago, the wharf was a different sight. Ryne was a tactical supply point. Goods from central Dain came down the Arnel, and merchants from Madai entered the kingdom usually at either Ryne or Talon — which ultimately shipped its goods down the Arnel as well. From Ryne, the shipments traveled to Grael and out to the armies. Locating the mass storage of food and supplies in Ryne as opposed to Grael provided safety against a large Kyrenian naval attack.
At the beginning of the war, there were far more imports arriving in Ryne than they could export. Today, the only incoming ship Terk could see was the hourly return of the river ferry. The warehouses would be empty in a few months if things continued at the current rate.
Terk shook his head from those thoughts and looked farther down the wharf to where wooden scaffolding had been raised. Atop this platform stood the Third Prince of Dain, Oren Remeth, looking out over the Arnel.
The prince lived up to every expectation of the title, standing upright and proud. Middle aged, his skin was still smooth, and long blonde hair fell past his shoulders. A dark green cloak billowed out behind him, revealing an ornate uniform, the likes of which Terk’s own was fashioned after. Even outside the Calm, Terk could feel the radiating presence of Oren’s strong soul.
Behind the prince, a tall bald man in a Royal Guard uniform paced around the platform, reading a handful of documents. A large piece of green Airacite hung off the man’s belt next to a thin dueling sword. Jude Blackleaf was Oren’s right-hand man, leader of his Royal Guard, and therefore Terk’s commander. Jude towered over most people and had a wide frame that would make even a blacksmith jealous. He was an exceptional strategist and one of the best field medics in the kingdom. Although he constantly grumbled about everything, Terk was proud to call him commander. Between the leadership of Jude and the prince, Terk’s time as a Royal Guard had been easier than he’d imagined while back in the Academy. But who chose knighthood for an easy life?
Detra led them up a wooden staircase towards the top of the scaffolding, and once at the top, Oren turned around to greet them.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said with a bright smile. Behind the smile however, Oren’s eyes showed the graveness of the day. There was not going to be anything good this afternoon.
All three of them simply nodded, and Detra asked, “Any word on when they are arriving?”
Jude took a moment to look up from his papers and shook his head, then went back to flipping through the documents.
“I see . . . How long will they be staying in Ryne this time?” the master asked, leaning up against the railing.
“As long as they need to Det,” the prince replied with strong determination. Terk thought he heard Jude mutter something under his breath. He ignored it, and joined Detra along the railing, looking out at the river.
A half hour passed before the fleet could be spotted down river, and Jude stepped down from the platform to oversee the final preparations. Terk shut out the booming orders coming from down below and tried to prepare himself. As the ship slowly approached, he steeled himself for what he was about to see. No matter how many times he experienced this, he was never truly ready. Each time only brought back painful memories.
He closed his eyes and entered the Calm. He felt the cool breeze around his body and let out a long breath focusing on the air around him. Finally feeling relaxed he opened his eyes and gazed upon the ships below.
At once, the Calm vanished, and Terk’s stomach tightened into a knot. It was a gruesome sight. Soldiers packed every surface of the ship, lying on cots or crouched into small forms, maimed and broken. Most had missing limbs or were so heavily bandaged they were practically immobile. Terk’s parents were doctors, so he had seen his share of bloodied scenes in his life, yet what broke his composure every time were the faces of these soldiers.
Soulless eyes stared blankly, unaware of the sailors and dockmen working to moor the ships along the wharf. Even the faces that weren’t truly Soulless were clearly broken in mind and spirit. These men and women were completely defeated. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. Staring at those dead eyes brought back the image of his brother Eli returning on a similar vessel a few months ago. His brother dismembered and Soulless, had barely recognized Terk. He clutched at the Airacite against his chest, then pushed aside the memory.
Anger filled his mind like a tempest. I swear, I will make every last one of you pay. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the railing, and he closed his eyes again. Desperately he searched for the Calm, but only dark thoughts of revenge filled his mind.
Suddenly, he felt a vibration along the railing. Looking down, he saw Katrina’s hand shaking. She remained upright with her face as emotionless as a rock, but still, her hands shook.
“Stand in formation,” Jude ordered in a whisper as he returned to the platform, and the four of them formed a line behind Oren as the prince approached the railing.
“Brothers and sisters!” the prince’s voice rang out over the wharf and all the dockmen froze to look up. Many of the soldiers on the ship didn’t even seem to notice.
“We are all children of the Great Lady. All children of the monarch. All children of Dain. One family united by the realm.”
Terk looked at the growing crowd of local citizens that had flooded the wharf, with more still trickling in.
“For seven long months we have been avenging our brother’s death. Eldrin’s murder will come at a large cost to the Kyrenians who betrayed our family’s trust. Justice will prevail for such a horrendous act.”
The prince took a deep breath, and for a moment, only the river disturbed the silence on the wharf. “My brothers and sisters, I assure you; we will win this war. We will cross the Ralm, and we will march down the streets of Dobram. Our banners will fly high above the Cerulean Palace, and every Kyrenian will swear fealty to our king.”
The villagers on the wharf cheered, but the men and women on the ships still avoided eye contact with the prince.
“I am confident in this because of my brothers and sisters such as yourselves,” the prince continued, gesturing to the soldiers. This caught the attention of a few. Some looked up at the prince, faces full of shame and they wept. Others buried their heads even further.
“Because of your strength, our family holds an advantage in this conflict. Because of your bravery, our family will bring Armin down. Because of your valor, I feel assured of our victory. And because of your heroic deeds, you will all be rewarded once this conflict is over with lands to create new lives!”
Oren turned to address the crowd on the wharf. “Tonight we will host a feast where all are welcome to attend. Tonight, we will sing praises! Tonight, we will make grand toasts! For tonight, we celebrate the return of our brothers and sisters!”
Loud cheers erupted, and the prince signaled the dockmen to resume their work. Many of the soldiers remained in their stupor, but Terk noticed one woman look up at the prince and smile.
* * *
The feast lived up to the prince’s hefty claims. Minstrels sang verse after verse describing the victories of various soldiers. They practically drained the castle’s stores of wine and ale as every family within ten miles attended the feast. The main hall filled up quickly, and they were forced to set up tables and tents in the courtyard. For a last-minute affair, Terk was impressed by the grandness of it all. It certainly rivaled any feast he had attended in Byron.
The prince made arrangements for every soldier that returned, whether they were immobile or maimed. By now, most of the soldiers had broke free from their stupor — at least long enough to enjoy the feast. Many raised their glasses to join in the singing, and after dinner, the tables were slid to the side for those able to dance. The less fortunate cheered and sang from their seats. For an evening, it was as if none of their perils existed.
Terk sat at a round table with the rest of the guard, near the end of the hall. Oren had joined them at the beginning of the feast, but shortly after dinner he left to make his rounds, trying to talk with each soldier individually.
“If you would’ve asked me this morning what we’d be doing tonight, I’d have put money on another night at Velvet Skies, but I dare say this has been a pleasant turn of events,” Detra said, raising his glass of wine in his left hand.
“Imagine what it’s going to be like when we finally taste victory,” Katrina said, relaxing back in her chair. The rigid soldier persona she held all day had finally faded. Now she was just the normal girl Terk knew back at the Academy.
“I suspect I won’t be of much use the day after that celebration,” Detra replied, pouring himself another glass.
“If there is anything left to celebrate with,” Jude muttered. For the entire night, he had been reserved, barely drinking. This normally wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary, but Terk sensed something off about him tonight.
“Oh, come now Jude, don’t be so melodramatic. Here, have a drink. It’s for the soldiers.” Detra tried passing the decanter, but the commander refused.
“These soldiers deserve every bit of this feast and ten times, but our supplies are running short. I got word today that grain shipments from Talon have been delayed yet again. How do you expect to win a war with no food?” he said just loud enough that only they could hear.
Detra shrugged the comment off. “The war will be over before we starve. The signs of Armin’s desperation are clear. The man’s sending children to do his fighting now!”
Terk had heard that report too. It was sickening just how low the Kyrenians would go. What kind of man sends children to die in his place?
The master continued, “Any day now, that line will break. And when it does, the war will be over in a month.” He finished the statement with another gulp of wine.
Would we join in the push at that point, or are we forever damned to this city?
Jude shook his head, his voice carrying a little louder. “We don’t know that for sure. We must look at the facts. Dain can’t support itself much longer. This year’s harvest won’t be enough to get us through the winter. We need allies, and I don’t mean the kind that come at a high price like the bank. Those money leeching whores are just as bad as the Kyrenians.”
“I agree with Jude, but I hardly think this is an appropriate place for the topic.”
Prince Oren’s voice startled all four of them.
“Come. Follow me.”
He led them out the back of the hall, down a few corridors, and into a private room with little more than a desk and a few chests. After securing the door, he pulled out a letter from his back pocket. Terk recognized the king’s seal as Oren handed the letter over to Jude.
“We are leaving tonight.”
Terk’s stomach fluttered. Leaving? He attempted to mask his excitement, but he knew he was grinning like a child on solstice.
“A messenger arrived tonight with word from my father. It appears that Madai has finished their election process and is planning on appointing Hector Arturis as the next Maduin consul. As you know, the nation of Madai has been in a political stalemate with its two current consuls. At the beginning of this war, my father reached out to these consuls in search of an ally. Alex Omestra agreed to send aid, yet Darius Cain refused. Thus, no aid. It’s my father’s wish that I travel to Madeen to speak with this new consul as soon as possible.”
All the hope Terk felt building vanished abruptly. He couldn’t believe it. Madeen? That’s the opposite direction we should be heading. What would those returning soldiers think if they knew the prince and his guard were about to leave the nation? Katrina and Detra shared the same shocked expression as himself.
The prince sighed. “Look, it pains me to abandon our post. Each day I yearn to be out on the field with my brothers fighting to avenge Eldrin, but like Jude said, we need allies, and we need them as soon as possible. I don’t expect Hector to be willing to march any armies towards Kyren, but even if we can get enough food to last the winter that would make certain our victory. Our success on this mission could very well be the deciding factor in this war.”
Slowly Katrina nodded. “You said we leave tonight, how are we to make such preparations?”
Oren flashed her a smile. “Why it’s only going to be the five of us. If Kyren knew I was headed to speak with Hector, I suspect we’d run into trouble before we even reached the city.” His face grew serious. “We leave in two hours. Pack light. Bring your uniforms, but we’ll ride in plain cloaks until we reach the city.”
The four of them saluted. “Yes, Your Grace.”
As they turned to leave the room, Oren made one final remark. “I know it’s not what we all had in mind, but that’s just the way of the wind.”