Rise of the Red Harbinger (13 page)

At times he had wished he was never a prince. That title made his decision incredibly more difficult. Garrison had known he could not avoid confronting his father. To do so in private would have allowed the king to react in much more extreme measures than had happened in the throne room. Garrison had expected to be exiled. But not to be hunted like a criminal. He should not have been surprised, though. His only consolation was that subjects and soldiers alike had witnessed the exchange. It would only be a matter of time before his father lost the support and loyalty of Cerysia.

In his eighteen years, despite all the strategy and planning of military strikes, Garrison had never been the type to plot against others. He had witnessed enough of that among the lords of Cerysia. Regardless, he was determined to put the pieces in place so that Cerysia would readily follow him on his return home after the House of Darian.

He didn’t know yet if that meant killing his father. He would have to evaluate the circumstances upon his return and decide then. It was the first time since he’d stopped his hunting sprees that Garrison was somewhat relieved that he had experience with killing people. He was sure if it came to it, he would have what it took to kill his own father. Until then, he would embrace who he really was.
Orijin, please just let him already be dead by the time I return.

Ashur had never had a king who was a Descendant. In fact, Descendants had only started significantly populating the world in the past two centuries, and still their numbers were not more than a few hundred, as far as Garrison knew. And he would be the first to become king. Not for the glory, but for the betterment of mankind.

Garrison had seen much of the world in his few years as commander of the army. The world was broken. Too many people were poor. Nations were constantly at war with each other. Galicea and Fang-Haan had constructed a wall at their border in the aftermath of their war. It was likely the only thing the two nations had agreed upon in the past few decades.

Garrison had not expected the world to be like the stories he’d read as a child, where everyone loved the king and the only evil in the world was done by monsters. But in his experiences in certain nations, people spat at him, not caring that he was a prince. It seemed that the world didn’t care about the king anymore. People were mostly poor because of constant taxes, money used to keep the army well trained and fed, as well as to put up a wall to keep Taurani out.

He remembered reading that thousands of years ago, after Darian had drowned the world to defeat Jahmash, the world was in great harmony. The nations loved each other. People accepted each other no matter their race or wealth.

Now, things were different. King Edmund had failed his people. According to many people as old as, or older than, Garrison’s father, the world had been a much easier place to live in before Edmund became king over twenty years ago. It hadn’t taken long for things to change for the worst.

Garrison sighed. It would take time. But his purpose in this world was to return it to what it once was. His manifestation, or ability as a Descendant, was the ability to invent. To create. The House of Darian would give him the ability to create a better world. And to protect it from Jahmash. That was a task with which his father would surely fail.

He was getting closer to the next tower, and closer to the Eye of Orijin. Wendell’s men would not be very far off. Garrison glanced at the sky. He’d already used half an hour. He knew his father would send soldiers before three hours had passed. If he was lucky, Garrison would have another half hour before the king was able to finish giving the soldiers their orders and then send them out. The king would also likely send soldiers to raid Garrison’s workshop in the armory. Regardless, the soldiers would be very close, very soon.

Riders appeared in the distance, the red dyed horse-hair bristles on their helmets peeking over the horizon. Garrison dug his heels into his steed and galloped away. Gales of wind blew into his face, which should have been refreshing, yet sweat still dotted his shaven head.

Garrison rode along the wall, merely a few yards away from it. Wendell would have given any soldiers in the vicinity news of Garrison’s flight, and would have had them swear to secrecy as well.
Oh no. The fire!
What more obvious sign could I have given them about where I was? What was I thinking? Those soldiers…they could have been…

As if Garrison’s thoughts had signaled for reality to follow, a soldier barked down at him from atop the tower, gesturing wildly. The man’s words were near impossible to understand because of the height of the wall, but Garrison gathered the meaning from the urgency of the soldier’s voice.

He dug his heels into the horse and sped on. The biggest flaw in Garrison’s plan was that he allowed himself no coverage. All he had was open land ahead and the enormous wall on his right.
How did I think I could outrun so many soldiers? Stupid!
He knew better than to waste precious arrows from this position. It would only slow him down to turn and shoot, and it would take even longer to ensure accurate shots. Flight was Garrison’s only ally.

On horseback, Garrison could reach the last tower quickly. He only hoped to stay outside the reach of the soldiers’ arrows. The tower marked the end of the wall, which was also the shore of the Eye. Something buzzed by his ear and bit into it. Without touching it, Garrison knew an arrow had pierced through his earlobe. Luckily, it was just the earlobe and not his whole ear. His attackers were within range after all. He glanced backwards as the horse galloped on.
Just about twenty of them. What happened to Wendell’s men? Could they have all been killed? Did they even come?

More arrows whizzed by, each missing Garrison by inches, a few feet at most. Wendell’s soldiers would not have shot so close. The last tower appeared on the horizon. Garrison desperately grabbed the front of the saddle and swung himself sideways on the horse. His legs and left arm wrapped around the beast’s torso while he clung to the pommel atop the saddle. He kept his body as close to the horse as he could while it galloped on.
At this pace, I should reach the banks in a few moments.
Arrows continued to fall nearby, but the tactic worked. In his position, the soldiers would have great difficulty finding the proper angle to shoot him.

Garrison gazed ahead. He could not see the tower from this side of the horse, but the waves of the Eye were audible. He could see canoes tied up on the shore. As thoughts of freedom were about to fill Garrison’s mind, the horse shrieked and tumbled to the ground. The fall sent Garrison hurtling through the air and he finally landed several feet away. Luckily, his momentum carried him forward. He felt the burn of scrapes and bruises, but nothing felt broken.

In the distance, the soldiers charged on toward him. He stood his ground, firm and unmoving. As the soldiers neared, Garrison nocked an arrow and aimed at the lead rider. “Stop where you are! I am Garrison Brighton, Prince of Cerysia, and Heir to all of Ashur! And Captain of the Royal Army!
Your
Captain! I order you to cease and dismount!”

The riders slowed until they were only a few feet away. They dismounted at the squadron leader’s signal. Garrison followed his every move with the bow and arrow.

“Prince Garrison, we do not want to fight you. But King Edmund has ordered us to bring you back dead or alive. That is our duty. We are soldiers. We swore an oath to the king.”

“My father’s words mean nothing to me. That same man also promised me three hours to leave the city of Alvadon before he would send out riders after me. Yet here you are, less than an hour later. You swore your fealty to a liar!” The soldier’s gaze dropped to his feet at Garrison’s words. Garrison continued, “Every man makes his own choices. A king’s duty is to ensure that every man has the freedom to choose his own path. A king’s word should be the strongest bond there is, yet this one has broken that bond to his own son. A good king does not order soldiers to kill his own son; much less waste the lives of his own army in doing so. This is the king you follow.”

“But my lord, King Edmund pays us. We need the coin to live. If we let you go free, he will kill all of us.” While the soldier spoke, the rest of the squadron formed a semicircle around Garrison, each with an arrow aimed at him.

“And if you fight me, I will kill all of you. So you choose money over honor. If the coin is your only concern, then the Cerysian Army has already failed. And the world is already lost. Think, you fools. Jahmash is coming! Why throw away your lives now when the world will need you soon!” The soldiers maintained their ready position. Garrison lowered his bow and fingered a black pouch at his belt.

What were the Orijin’s words?
’In the face of injustice, violence is necessary. Acceptance is unforgiveable.’ It is a waste to kill you all, but it is necessary.
“Very well, soldier. I yield.” Garrison dropped his bow and arrow to the ground.

As he pulled his waterskin from his belt, three soldiers fell to the ground screaming. Three heavily tattooed figures emerged from behind them, their swords dripping crimson, their leather armor drenched and in tatters.
Taurani? What are they doing here?

The remaining soldiers turned to face the new threat. The Taurani spun and swooped, slashing a few soldiers down with ease. Garrison could only stand and watch it all unfold. He could not simply allow them to handle his responsibility for him. He yelled to them, “Taurani, fall back and cover your faces! I will finish them!” They looked at him and Garrison nodded reassuringly, holding up the black pouch.
I can only hope they understand.

Garrison doused the black pouch with water while the Taurani fell to the ground and covered their faces. He threw the pouch to the center of the remaining ten soldiers. It landed on the ground without any of them taking notice.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five
. The pouch exploded in a black mist that engulfed the soldiers. At first they coughed, unable to find clean air.
Good. Coughing means inhaling
. One by one, each soldier fell to his knees, gasping for air. They scratched for their chests, throwing off metal and leather chest plates, ripping away undershirts. As they exposed their chests and torsos, tendrils of black and grey crept through their skin, changing their complexions completely within moments. They gasped desperately, mouths wide open with blood oozing down their chins. As the Black Dust spread further through them, they lay on the ground clawing at the dirt as well as at their chests. Red scratch marks turned into bloody skin. They writhed silently, now unable to produce a sound as the dust corroded their throats and vocal chords.
In a few moments, it should be done.

Garrison forced himself to watch. It was the second time he’d ever used the Black Dust, and only the first time he used it on multiple people. Obviously, it worked. The soldiers’ movements slowed. Blood seeped through their black skin until they were all lifeless red and black masses. He would leave them there for the next squadron to see. Hopefully, someone would bring a body back to his father, and the rest of the army would be dissuaded from pursuit.
How much coin would any man be willing to take at this risk?

The Taurani finally arose from their crouched positions several feet away. They moved gingerly and hobbled toward Garrison, hands still covering their mouths and noses. As they came closer, their features revealed that they were older. In fact, the woman and two men were all old enough to be Garrison’s parents.

The woman spoke first. “Put down your horse, Cerysian prince. It is in agony.” Garrison realized his horse still lay off in the distance, shrieking and flailing its broken limbs. An arrow stuck in its rear leg. He picked up his bow and walked over to the horse, patted it on the head, and whispered, “I am sorry my friend. Thank you for your sacrifice.” He shot an arrow in its head to bring death as quickly as possible, then retrieved his pack and specialized saddle and walked back to the Taurani.

“I am grateful for your help, but why are you here?”

The taller of the two men replied, “Did you see the world black out two days ago?” Garrison nodded. “Our village was destroyed that day. While our whole village slept, we were attacked by an army larger than our whole population.”

Garrison was puzzled. “Was that why the world went dark? Did they use some type of magic?”

“We do not know what happened. That was hours after the invasion. In fact, it was the reason why the three of us were able to escape. We were not together at the time, but we each separately ran for the forest in the darkness and eventually found each other wandering around yesterday.”

Garrison worriedly looked off toward the wall. “Come, let us take a boat and be off. We cannot afford to be found talking here, especially with the three of you injured. More soldiers will come.” They walked to the shore and found a canoe large enough to fit four of them. “Burn the other boats so we cannot be followed.” Garrison gave the Taurani torches and flint from his pack to start fires and, in moments, all of the boats burned atop the water except for one.

They all returned to the canoe and sailed off. The two men had sustained injuries to their arms and chests, which left Garrison and the woman to row. “You’re saying your whole village and population are gone? In one day?” Garrison could not fathom how warriors as established at the Taurani could have been wiped out.

The woman spoke up as the men bandaged their wounds. “A day? No, more like a few hours. Somehow, they knew how and when to strike. We were decimated in our sleep. We don’t know how they got past the guards and the gates, but we never even had the opportunity to fight back.” She shook her head, still in disbelief. “They didn’t just kill us, Cerysian, they destroyed everything. They tore down and burnt down every single building. There is nothing left.”