Chapter 5: And Volition Will
‘The difference between a king and a farmer is made by choices more than by birthrights. We all get offered choices which lead us to different destinies, but most of us end up making the wrong ones and leading unsatisfying lives.’ Philosophical Lessons from Utyirth (Volume I: Captain).
1
A peaceful trip to Scandur, the lands of the Highborn, allowed Monolos to continue teaching the Watcher hounds in the manners of speech. Eirene tended to the two orphans, making certain that they would stay out of trouble.
The others continued their natural order of business as they carefully ventured forth; Ninazu with his herbs, Thalia with her songs, and Hephaestion with his philosophy. Though everything seemed natural, there was an air of discomfort which grew upon them the closer they got to Scandur. Eos’ depiction of the Highborn was at the very least unsettling.
The twins, keen as they were, suddenly sensed danger nearby and, in perfectly matching voices, shouted, “Ambush!” They drew their weapons, signaling the others to do as such.
Heeding the warning, they formed one of their Parthan formations. A circle of readied steel and tensed flesh surrounded the hounds, children, and a pile of hastily discarded brown leather packages, containing the provisions the Parthans carried.
The assailants, noticing that their presence was revealed, casually appeared, taking untroubled steps towards the outlanders. Hiding would serve them little good now. Two hulking muscular men walked from behind a large tree. They wore heavy furs on their backs and exposed their chests, and a thick leather belt with many weapons and tools tucked within. Each carried a large sword on his shoulder. Unobstructed by foliage, they stood straight and alert, but did not unsheathe their weapons which hung from their sides like hunted hares.
“It is very unwise to enter the lands of Scands so poorly prepared,” a large man said while appearing before Sigurd from behind a nearby tree. Being the largest of the Parthans, the Scandurian assumed that Sigurd was their leader - as the habits of their culture defined such role.
Sigurd, provoked by the hostile native, ached to challenge him in a physical show of strength. Rarely did the Turian shy away from such advances, but he always did his best to place the mission first.
“Do not take us lightly, for we are more than capable to take out a force twice as large as ours,” Hephaestion said. Strength was their language, he thought. He then regretted revealing their caliber to the enemy. He had lost the element of surprise - so much for Eos’ suggestion.
Following Eos’ whispers, Ganis repeated, “You are the Highborn, a dying race. I have come here to meet with your leader. Take us to him and test not my patience.”
The Highborn leader eyed them wearily, a grimace of disgust falling upon his face. “Should we accept your challenge, your fate would quickly be shortened. Know your place, foreigner. Know your place.”
“If you are so superior, then why fear taking us to your leader?” Ganis nudged Hephaestion, who signaled his understanding by a faint nod.
The other Parthans stood weary as the discussion escalated. It would be a challenge to fight these three. Imagine being surrounded by their likes, Hephaestion thought. He looked at Sigurd and noted his hostile expression. At least Sigurd is looking forward to it.
“We do not fear you,” the Highborn leader grunted. “Why are you so keen on seeking an audience with our leader?”
“To claim that which is mine,” Ganis said, still following Eos’ whispers.
“And what might that be?”
Raising the Progenitor Sword up high in the sun for all to see, Ganis replied, “The allegiance of my people.”
The three Highborn looked in shock at the sword of which they had heard many stories - the Progenitor Sword, Eos Teeban. Once the shock wore off, the Highborn leader released a thundering laugh, echoing through the snowy mountains and the struggling trees. The other two joined him, but their amusement did not seem genuine.
“Someone as frail as you cannot wield the Progenitor Sword. This must be some sort of cheap trick. Perhaps I should send you to the afterlife myself, but that would rob King Ragnar of a good laugh.” The Highborn leader wiped the laughing tears with his right hand, doing a poor job and smudging his face with dirt instead, and ignored the unintended decoration. “We will escort you to our keep, but be warned that it might be one of the last things you do.” At his signal three others emerged from behind the thick bushes. “The alternative would certainly not be to your liking.”
“We will allow you to escort us to your leader,” Ganis said, receiving a disapproving grunt from the man, but he complied regardless of his disappointment in the lack of a fight.
While still keeping a watchful eye and a readied arm, the Parthans sheathed their weapons and broke formation. Hephaestion was uncertain about the decision to walk straight into the enemy’s territory and his gut warned him against it, but, as the Highborn leader suggested, it was better than the alternative.
Eos’ plan had finally been put in motion. A group of able warriors were on their way to Scandur, to guide his people away from the destructive path he himself set them on.
2
The Parthans arrived at the Scandurian keep, mistaking it for a minor fort protecting its hinterlands. Just as Ganis was about to speak, the Highborn leader announced, “Welcome to Scandur Keep, where the Highblood live.”
Ganis smirked at the almighty people. If only they knew the cities the Nosgardians built, perhaps they would be convinced that they were indeed not as superior as they thought. They entered a palisade circling a small village housing no more than six hundred Highborn.
Wood and hay appeared to be all what the structures were built of. They were warm huts, but not sturdy to survive the elements for long without maintenance, not with the punishment nature bestowed upon them.
A smithy marked by an anvil at its door seemed to be the single building not meant to house Highborn. The Scands had no economy of their own, living a life far more different than the villagers of Hearthdale. Other than battle and violence, they knew nothing of life. They were, indeed, a dying people, as Eos so often said.
Their renowned battle prowess had come at a cost, technological and economic development. Without trade, the Parthans knew, civilizations came to a halt, and without advancement they were consumed by their neighbors.
Looking at her captain, Ganis leaned to ask, in a whisper of a voice, “Isn’t it odd that they haven’t been invaded yet?”
“I can only think of one explanation.” Hephaestion paused for a moment, looking right and left to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “A civilization without threat is a civilization with no cause for development. They never needed better weapons, taller walls, or warmer huts. My guess would be that not much has changed in the way they live since the days of Eos’ rule.”
Eos’ selective breeding programs and intensive training gave the Scands the ultimate defense at the time, before the advent of steel would make their wooden spears useless, or gunpowder would make their skill obsolete. Eos had been too successful for anyone else to amass the courage needed to defy his ways.
Their cycle of extinction resembles that of the Elder, if the books speak true. A threatening success, they called it, Ganis projected to Eos. As part of Asclepius’ training, she had studied whatever books and scrolls the School of Knowledge had gathered about the Elder, the first and greatest of all sentients.
Ganis looked at one of the Highborn escorting them – she did not like having to look up to meet his eyes – and asked, “Would you follow me if I save you?”
He produced a sarcastic laugh, brief and fake.
“I will prove my worth before asking you again,” she said.
When they reached the humble keep - a round structure resembling an ancient and small wooden fort, much like those the Parthan soldiers were trained to build on military campaigns, with four wooden towers protruding from each corner - The Parthans were relieved. The
y knew that it would not be difficult to impress a people whom they had much to teach.
Inside, a large hall with a long banquet table led the band to the throne. Two rows of plain wooden pillars, extending from the entrance to the throne, supported the roof.
As soon as the six Highborn scouts entered the chamber, a loud cry announced them, “Bjor, King Ragnar’s eldest son, has returned.” A pause. “They bring captives.”
“Should they not prepare such matters in advance?” Ganis whispered, intending to project to Eos – a mistake.
We do things differently than your people, Eos responded, but not much different that your predecessors many generations ago. Custom takes time to change.
The Parthans approached the King, observing him and his guards wearily. He bore a grand resemblance to the one called Bjor. Like his son, King Ragnar had wild and long yellow hair matched by a thick beard. He was even taller and more muscular than his son, a trait Ganis though impossible when she first saw Bjor.
King Ragnar’s blue eyes fell upon the Parthans, each getting scanned briefly until finally they settled on Sigurd. They were impressed by the man’s size, and the way he carried himself, it seemed to Ganis.
“Why do you bring me farmers, children, and hounds?” King Ragnar asked, condescendingly.
“They challenged you, King Ragnar. I thought you would like to address it yourself.”
The King released an angry breath of frustration. “For your sake, I hope this does not prove to be a waste of my time.”
Eos projected and Ganis spoke. “I bring the Progenitor Blade with me.” She unsheathed the blade and raised it for all to see. “I claim my rightful place here in Scandur.” She pointed at the throne. She then approached a small altar beside it.
The altar, a small crevice in the ground marked with ancient symbols – runes incomprehensible to most – which made their path from the lowest point in the crevice to a large stone obelisk at its far edge. In the obelisk, taller than two Highborn standing atop one another and wider than the thick wooden beams which carried the roof of the throne room, a clear glass semi-sphere protruded from its center. Once Ganis placed Eos in a fitting crack in the crevice, the symbols came to life, pulsing with a faint yellow light reaching for the sphere absorbing its glow.
“Impossible!” King Ragnar rose from his throne, revealing a hulking frame dwarfing all those around him.
Ganis then removed her armor and lay down her weapons. She intended to prove her strength for all the Highborn. If she could challenge and defeat King Ragnar, Eos promised, she would tame them and gain their allegiance.
King Ragnar eyed her, unimpressed, and said, “You should have never come here. I will spare you no pain of humiliation, Indignus.”
Indignus! Eos projected to Ganis. He calls you unworthy, an offense no Highborn would tolerate. You must retaliate. Prove that you are one of them and gain your honor amongst the Highborn.
Heeding the other Highborn, the Parthans steeped back, joining with the crowd that formed a circle around the two contenders, watching the encounter. Tables and chairs were cleared to allow for a spacious arena. Eirene and Monolos each guided their responsibilities away from the demonstration, well behind the crowd. They would miss it, but the pups and children would be safe.
Once the area was cleared, Ganis and King Ragnar slowly entered, eyeing one another carefully, thinking of the best method to attack.
King Ragnar, twice as large and more than Ganis, circled his prey. His expression was cold, certain and ruthless. He stood proudly, making little effort to grant his foe the respect of readiness.
Ganis stood still, trying to analyze the Highborn, looking for a weakness she could exploit. Now was not the time to hold back. Her Dark Gift would finally be of use. She had nothing to hide anymore, just strength to show – a display for both Highborn and Parthan.
Eos commanded her to attack first. She lunged at her opponent, intending to gauge his abilities, with a flurry of punches and kicks. Hitting his sides first, testing his endurance, she struck. The Highborn King grimaced in pain. She was, after all, a match for him.
Reactively, King Ragnar dodged, with little success, and parried. Even where his wrists would meet Ganis’ fists, he would feel the pain brought upon them by the fierce Indignus. One of his many blows made contact. He had struck Ganis in the gut with all his might. The impact pushed her backwards and nearly tripped her. She could be hit, but what little effect it had. Her body was like iron.
Ganis, crouching and supporting herself on both feet and her left arm, looked up at King Ragnar and revealed a cunning smile. His blow, it seemed, was not enough to inflict any harm on her. She had the advantage. King Ragnar was indeed no match to her - not with the Dark Gift of which he knew nothing.
King Ragnar’s face suddenly twitched in surprise. His eyes widened at his unnatural adversary. And for the first time, he felt fear. She could kill him if she wanted; him and all remaining Highborn, but that did not stop him from continuing his assault. He had to try, make certain that she was the rightful heir to the Progenitor - his duty as king.
Ganis waited for King Ragnar to strike next. He dashed at her, intending to grab the little figure and run her into the wooden wall. She was quicker. As his shoulder made contact with her chest, she steadied herself and tossed his massive frame behind her. Back first, he crashed into a thick wooden beam supporting the roof, cracking it and nearly felling a portion of the structure.
Dazed and humiliated, King Ragnar stood. He backed away to allow himself a moment’s worth of thought, but Ganis did not give him a chance to do so. It was time to finish the fight. She approached the man with unnatural speed and struck at his colossal frame with ruthless blows. Blood flew and muscle bruised. A combination of Peacekeeper and Parthan martial arts targeted at his body’s vulnerabilities crippled his movements. Killing the man, she deemed, would not be wise. He had to be subdued.
King Ragnar’s neck met with the unwavering grip of Ganis’ firm hands. She was squeezing the life out of his body, and his hands intending of freeing him from her deadly grip were useless. His vision started to fade. He was defeated without even putting a dignifying fight. Then her grips loosened.
“Do you submit?” Ganis asked with a firm voice and a stance ready to unveil a hidden fury.
He could not speak at first, but as his breath returned he managed to say, “I submit.”
She helped him up. “I have come to save your people. For many centuries you have stopped moving forward, it is time to continue. The Scands, the Highborn, are dying. Those are Eos’ words.”
Holding his sore neck, rubbing it, he said, “You have proven your worth, Dignus. The Highborn have been patiently waiting for your arrival.” He bowed on both knees and cocked his head down. “What are your orders, Excelsis Dignus?”
Dignus, Eos projected, is what they call outlanders whom they deem worthy of being considered their equals. It is a title that has not been given out in many ages. Excelsis Dignus, which you have been referred to as, is the worthiest of all Dignii, a great honor.
“I do not wish to take your place, King Ragnar of the Scands, for I have no interest in leading a dying people. You need to prove your worth to me.”
“How, Excelsis Dignus?”
Ganis looked at the Parthans, who all stood now heading a crowd of tall men, even Eirene, Monolos, and their additional passengers. Her eyes fell on Hephaestion who gave her a slight nod. She was to assure them a place among the Scands until they decided how to best exploit their position.
“I will need to convene with the other Dignii. Prepare us accommodation here within the keep.” She raised her arm suddenly gesturing their dismissal.
The confused Highborn did not know whether they should heed her command, and looked at Bjor for approval. He quickly granted it with a gesture from his arm, to the same small crew which accompanied him, and they left in haste.
Hephaestion, the most anxious of them all, was finally put at ease
by knowing that his calculations had, once more, been wrong. Ganis deserved more trust than that he had given her. She deserved more command. Perhaps Pertinax could have lived if she was his second.
3
An entire wing in the second tier was dedicated to accommodate the new Highborn champion and her companions. Besting their King gave Ganis credibility, just as Eos foretold.
Once the Parthans arrived at their new quarters, which could not have been prepared so hastily, within Scandur Keep, Ganis asked of Bjor, “Whose quarters are these?”
“Eos’ quarters, Excelsis Dignus. We have been awaiting this moment for many generations,” Ragnar’s eldest responded. His tone bore more fear than respect, for it was the Highborn way to fear one’s leader and strongest of their race, unless they deemed them unworthy and intended to challenge them for their title.
“I have not yet decided if the Highborn are worthy of my leadership. Do not call me ‘Excelsis Dignus’.”
“What then should we call you?” Bjor barely held himself from adding ‘Excelsis Dignus’ to address Ganis.
She remembered the early days of the Second Civil War when the Kolians recognized Rostam as their deity, the Blood God. He had them call the Demigod Servak ‘Razul’, the messiah, and saw it fit to use the same title, considering that she was Eos’ messiah, in some form. “You can call me Razul.”
Bjor offered her a respectful nod, ignoring the others, and left, gently shutting the door behind him. He did not want to convey any aggressiveness to Ganis, fearing her to interpret any of his gestures as a challenge to her authority, an interpretation she would have never guessed unaided.
The room, lavish by Scandian standards yet humble by Parthan ones, was about half as large as the throne room. Wooden beams extended from below and through the ceiling, supporting the structure. A large spacious area with a lit hearth and some dry wood to feed the fire stood under an oculus.
With the exception of five leather chairs covered with white and brown furs, a few bronze torch holders, and some animal skins serving as carpets, there was little decoration. Six opened thick wooden doors, three on each side, revealed additional rooms with a single window, some hangers protruding from the walls, and a fur-covered bed in each. The finest Scandur had to offer was a disappointment to the Parthans.
Looking at Hephaestion, Ganis asked, “What now?”
“I do not know. It is Eos who should be guiding us, not I.”
Remembering Eos’ words, Ganis added, “We need to prove to them that there is strength in unity.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Thalia asked. She tried one of the leather chairs, fidgeting to find comfort.
“We have to demonstrate. A simple test where we pit one of their warriors against one of ours and ensure that ours gets defeated. Then we pit two of their warriors against two of ours and ensure a different outcome.”
“A fixed fight!” Hephaestion hummed in contemplation. He rubbed his chin and stared at one of the animal skins decorating the floor.
“They are a strong people. It will not be easy to defeat them in a duel, even with our most attuned warriors fighting alongside one another.”
“I volunteer,” Sigurd said.
“Not you, Sigurd.” Hephaestion eyed the man, casually approaching him. Once he was close enough, Ganis noticed how much larger Sigurd was than the Parthan captain. “I do not believe you are capable of purposefully losing a fight. For Ganis’ plan to succeed, we need someone who is willing to be defeated and two who are deceptively capable.” He looked at the twins. “Percival and Dindrane, would you be willing to take such task?”
The twins exchanged a glance between one another then Dindrane said, mischievously smiling, “Gladly, captain.”
“Then it is decided. Percival will fight the first Highborn then Dindrane will join in when they face two.”
“Be weary,” Eos addressed the Parthan group.
Ganis unsheathed the Progenitor Blade and held it amidst its circling audience. It seemed a fitting thing to do when Eos spoke, in spite of the lack of necessity.
“It will be a challenge. You will need every shred of strength to survive a duel against the weakest of the Highborn. Even then, you will most certainly fail at defeating them in a fair fight. You will need to fight at your best. It is not to be taken lightly.”
“Then we will need some rest,” Hephaestion noted. “Tomorrow we demonstrate to the Highborn what strength lies in unity.”
The Parthans nodded in agreement. They were eager to rest, especially after such a draining day.
4
Sleeping within Scandur Keep was relieving. Even though the place was poorly furnished and provided few comforts, it was safe. They could rest without worry of ambush or predation. They could rest without interruption of watch.
Even Percival and Dindrane, the heroes-to-be of the day, had a rejuvenating sleep.
As Ganis, the Excelsis Dignus, descended from her quarters, she heard the sound of quickly scattering boots upon aged wood. It was a distinct sound that was only heard within populated ancient structures. Once she appeared below, she was greeted with a curious troop of Highborn. They were, in a sense, her personal guard – if she would accept her new post.
“Excelsis Dignus, we are at your command.” King Ragnar bowed, leading the others to mimic him.
Ganis slowly circled the Highborn king. She was far smaller than him and felt dwarfed by the defeated man. “Bring me your strongest warrior from the ones amongst us.”
At a signal from King Ragnar, Bjor the Boneless approached her, standing out from the crowd.
Ganis then looked behind her at Percival. He moved into the clearing still ready from Ganis’ show of strength the day before and waited. “Your warrior against mine. Commence when you please.”
She stood firmly, both her hands resting on Eos by her side as she watched the warriors prepare. The circle of spectators moved to account for Ganis’ choice of spot.
Bjor obeyed the command, without seeking approval from his father, and so did Percival. The two warriors, stripped from weapon and armor, stood facing one another. Percival, as usual, was dwarfed by his opponent. Bjor looked at Ganis, seeking permission to commence. She nodded and he raised both fists.
The two combatants took a few steps back, keenly observing each other. Percival followed Ganis’ lead from the previous duel and lunged at his adversary. His attempts were futile against Bjor, most punches and kicks missing their intended mark and the few which landed did no notable damage. In but a few moments, Percival’s neck lay in Bjor’s arms. A cub in a lion’s grip.
With no expression to betray her intentions, Ganis said, “Your warrior bested mine. Do you not agree that he is the stronger of the two?”
“I do, Razul. Bjor is clearly the stronger.”
“And what would you expect should your second strongest and another of the Dignii join the fight?”
“The same outcome, Razul.”
Ganis then looked at Dindrane and nodded. King Ragnar did the same to another Highborn. They both entered the circle. Bjor released Percival and returned to his end of the dueling circle. Percival cracked his neck in preparation for the second round. He looked at Dindrane, shrugging a disappointing look, and offered a grunt. Ivar, Ragnar’s youngest son, stood beside Bjor, his brother.
“Commence,” Ganis ordered.
All four contestants raised their fists, the Highborn having no particular form while the Parthans moved in unison. This time the Parthans held their position, allowing the Highborn to attack first. Both Highborn charged simultaneously, each focusing on the twin ahead of him.
Percival and Dindrane switched places. The Highborn kept their targets and crashed into one another during a narrow-sighted rush. Judging from their reaction, the audience had not anticipated the move. Making fools out of their opponents would not help the Parthans defeat them, just aggravate them, or so the Highborn thought.
The twins did not allow the dazed H
ighborn to recover and simultaneously launched their attacks on Bjor, the contender they had observed the most. Percival rushed towards his back and locked his arms in a tight grip around his opponent’s neck, Dindrane distracting him with kicks and punches as her brother maneuvered.
Ivar, recovered and able, then rushed to his brother’s aid, still focusing his attention on Percival, but Dindrane tripped him. He fell with a loud thump, yet quickly regained his composure. Bjor fell unconscious, allowing Percival to safely release him.
Distracted by Percival, who masterfully taunted him with feints, Ivar found his neck locked in Dindrane’s grasp, as his brother’s was in Percival’s. It did not take the struggling Highborn much time to lose consciousness.
King Ragnar observed in shock as his two sons, two of the strongest Highborn, were quickly defeated by the Dignii.
When the fight was concluded and the ruckus subsided, Ganis said, “You see, King Ragnar, each of your warriors is stronger than each of mine, yet two of them are no match to two of mine.”
“What sorcery is this?” the king retorted as he stood up.
Ganis’ tone dried as she responded to the accusation, “Sorcery? Have you forgotten your place, King Highborn?”
King Ragnar stepped back, realizing his offense.
“Without unity opposing him, the solitary strong prevails. Yet a unified group of weaker members is always superior.” Ganis approached the two limp Scands.
King Ragnar fell silent, contemplating Ganis’ words. He then rose his head and forced his eyes to meet Ganis’. “Razul, will you guide us?”
“Will you contest my command?”
“Never.”
“Then you will unite with the Midland villages.”
Unsettling words to the King. “An alliance with these maggots!”
“You contest my command?” She approached him, still resting her hands on Eos, yet tightly gripping the hilt with her sword arm.
King Ragnar retreated. “I apologize, Razul. It will not happen again.”
“Indeed it will not.” She walked away, leaving her back exposed, sending a message that she did not deem him enough of a threat to hide her weaknesses from him. “Scandur will unite with the Midland villages or perish. It was foretold.”
“As you wish, Razul.” King Ragnar nodded his head in submission.
None of the other Highborn contested the act. They knew if Ganis could defeat their leader with such ease, as she had demonstrated a day before, none of them stood a chance against her. Then there were the Parthans, a mysteriously capable force. They feared that which they could not understand, as all people did.
The Highborn, inhabitants of Scandur and bearers of Eos’ will, did not fully understand what Ganis intended, or her demonstration, but they did understand, and respect, strength, and a warrior possessing these qualities would gain their unwavering loyalty. With Eos’ guidance, Ganis knew that.
“From the beacon our ancestors built long ago, Eos returns as intended,” the Highborn repeated the chant.
5
With the Highborn swayed to the wishes of Eos, it was his turn to hold his end of the bargain. Eos would help Ganis find Naa’tas, and slay him if need be.
The Highborn by the Parthans’ side would certainly make the Midlanders listen to the Parthans, Ganis thought. It was a good plan.
Hephaestion, the curious scholar, found himself in an enviable position. He had access to all the knowledge he wanted from the Highborn. No secrets would be kept from him; no hindrances offered at his investigations.
Approaching Bjor, who stood wearily at the walls of Scandur eyeing the distant horizon, Hephaestion asked, “Have you recently made contact with other Indignus?”
Bjor looked at him, physically looking down at the Parthan yet his eyes held great respect for the man, who had only proven himself by association to Ganis and the twins. “Last time we met any Indignus was a little over four seasons ago, Dignus.”
“What did they say?”
Bjor produced a brief hum. “They attacked us. It was a futile attempt with no words exchanged. One day we spotted them entering our lands with an army headed towards Scandur Keep. They were met with all our might and few of them survived the onslaught.”
Hephaestion’s eyes widened. He struck gold. “Tell me more. Did they bear any flags or banners?”
“They bore no banners and fought in an orderly manner we have never seen before, yet they were not unified like you and the other Dignii. In spite of the Indignii’s familiarity with the lands, Scandur fought with no challenge that day.”
Hephaestion wondered for a moment. He looked at the plains ahead of him, with snow covering all in sight, and tried to imagine a battle between Scands and other Indignii – a term that the Parthans had become familiar with. “Do you know of a man named Naa’tas? We’re looking for him.”
“It’s a name not foreign to my ears. Perhaps the prisoner might know something about him.”
“Prisoner!” Hephaestion was surprised that his newfound allies, the merciless Highborn who viewed weakness as reason enough to kill, kept prisoners, yet glad to hear of the opportunity to finally meet someone who knew of Naa’tas. “I must speak to King Ragnar at once.”
Bjor’s eyes indicated a shift in the man’s image to the Highborn. “You must speak to King Ragnar! While many of us consider you Dignus, as the other unproven folk in your crew, only three of you have been tested. You have no power over us.”
Mere words would not be enough for Hephaestion to continue his investigation. He was wrong about his status among the Highborn, and about the freedom he had to pursue the knowledge he wished for. But the Parthan captain had not become the man he was this day without the courage and wits to persuade others. “Perhaps you have mistaken your own place, Bjor. Ganis follows my command, not the other way around. Imagine how strong I must be to have her serve under me.”
A compelling argument. Bjor was convinced, and worried of his insubordination. He proceeded to guide Hephaestion to King Ragnar’s throne room.
“Ganis!” gaining her immediate attention, Hephaestion interrupted the discussion between her and King Ragnar. “A thread at last!”
Nearly a season of traveling with Hephaestion made her understand his vague metaphors. “Then we must move at once.”
“King of the Scands,” Hephaestion said, “may we speak to your prisoner?”
King Ragnar looked at Ganis and said, “I apologize, Excelsis Dignus, for not telling you of this earlier.”
Excelsis Dignus, Hephaestion though. So she finally accepted the title.
“You have not had enough time to tell me of all which had happened during the time Eos was away.”
King Ragnar nodded and started telling the tale of the prisoner. “Four seasons ago we were attacked by a group of Indignii. They came with an orderly army and marched on Scandur Keep. As Highborn we could not forgive such transgression and met the army on the field.
“A battle erupted and we emerged victorious without any notable casualties. Many of the invaders escaped before we could cut them down, the rest we executed. The last of them was to be executed by my hand, but a stranger appeared. He stopped me from the act with some cunning sorcery.
“He branded himself ‘Volition’ and gave me a choice between executing the prisoner and keeping her confined. The shady man never explained what the outcome of my choice would be, but he said that it would bear an impact on my people greater than any other action I will take. I kept her alive, knowing that it would be an easy mistake to fix.”
“An easy mistake to fix indeed,” Ganis said. “I applaud your wisdom, King Ragnar.” She then looked at Hephaestion and understood his intentions. Addressing Bjor, she said, “Take us to the prisoner at once.”
Having never taken survivors before, the Scands were forced to confine their prisoner in one of the houses located at the edge of the city, modified with rusted iron bars to fit the purpose. Only the iron-reinforced gates distinguished the s
tructure from its surrounding.
The guard was ordered by Ganis to open the gate and allow her three companions entry. Sealed windows ensured that no light entered the hey-filled room and accentuated a putrid stench of accumulated waste which forced the Parthans to wince. A single beam of light provided Hephaestion with barely enough sight to see the shrunk figure huddled in the corner.
Ganis immediately headed to her and lifted the prisoner up aggressively. She had no tolerance for supporters of Naa’tas, it appeared, the ones she held responsible for the death of Pertinax. “What is your name!” she scolded at the helpless woman.
“Illawulf…Illawulf.” The prisoner struggled loose and returned to cower in her safe corner.
“Illawulf Bloodface of the Arrokan Wolves, is it not?” The name was familiar to Ganis. “This pit, poor as it is, is too lavish to house one such as you.”
Illawulf Bloodface, the once fierce leader of a mercenary group, was responsible for the deaths of many innocents during the Second Civil War. The Arrokan Wolves, her troop, had looted and pillaged many villages which rebelled against the Council. Even Ganis’ sins dulled in comparison to Illawulf’s.
Illawulf attempted to look at Ganis, to see who talked of her so accurately, but the light made her sensitive eyes hurt. She was a broken husk of her former self, a once proud criminal capable of incredible cruelty.
“Where is Naa’tas?”
Trembling with fear and hunger, she weakly responded in a hiss, “As soon as we arrived here, the cursed one betrayed us. He used us to build great ships and help him get here, then exposed of us all. He abandoned us and headed north. I have not seen him since, nor heard of his deeds. Trust me, whoever you are, I wish for nothing more than to help you kill him.”
Illawulf spoke true. Ganis, as familiar as she was with tortured prisoners, knew that the Nosgardian was broken. She no longer had the will to deceive or manipulate her interrogators. She would say anything just to be delivered of her sentence.
“By my hand Naa’tas will die. This I promise.”
Illawulf looked at Ganis, her eyes wincing and tearing. “Will you release me?” Her voice trembled as she reached out to Ganis.
Ganis knelt down and held her frail arms in her hands. Illawulf had barely anything left to cover her bones. The Highborn were a cruel people to their prisoners, or at least the one they imprisoned. “You are forgiven.” She then twisted her arms, breaking them, and pulled Illawulf towards her, digging her teeth into the Arrokan Wolf’s neck, and feasted on the little thick blood she had left.
Bjor, never having seen Ganis feed before, was terrified at the scene. “Are you a demon?”
Ganis directed her pale glowing eyes at him and responded, “I am far more.”
Her nature once revealed, as Eos had told her, would not make the Highborn any less loyal. In fact, he suspected, it would make them even better servants.
6
Illawulf did serve an important purpose, Volition, whoever he was, spoke true when he told King Ragnar that the decision to keep Illawulf would be one of vital importance. The whereabouts of Naa’tas were no longer a mystery. The Parthans had an army at their side and a direction to point it at, two developments that Hephaestion sought to discuss.
“With an army of Highborn, the direction of Eos, and the location of Naa’tas, we can start taking steps towards our mission.” Hephaestion sat on one of the leather chairs in their quarters. He carefully folded his cloak to use it as a cushion, making the seat as comfortable as he could.
Ganis prepared her pipe with the last of her heaven’s weed. She then lit it with a burning twig bulging out from the hearth. “The Highborn are formidable, but we need more numbers. We need the Midland villages to join us.”
“Any suggestions on how we can proceed with such a plan?”
Feeling that his contribution would hasten the conclusion of this summit, Sigurd added, “Swaying the Scands was easy with Eos’ aid. With the exception of Hearthdale, we do not know how to begin convincing the Midlanders to join our cause.”
Having known their former hosts better than the other Parthans, save for his twin, Percival knew this was one of the few times his knowledge would be beneficial to the others. “I think I know how to convince the peoples of the Midland villages, trade and stability.”
“My brother and I,” Dindrane added, “have met and conversed with many traders from the nearby villages. They did not reveal to us if they were the subject of raids such as Hearthdale was, but it would not be difficult to discover this now that we know what it is we seek.”
Ganis blew on her pipe. “I believe it would be wise not to completely leave Scandur. Someone should stay behind and maintain Parthan presence.”
“I agree. We need to leave capable warriors who could prove their making should it be necessary,” Hephaestion said. Pertinax often thought of Hephaestion as cynical, yet time and time again, whenever his suggestions were carried out, he proved that he was simply prudent.
“I’ll stay,” Sigurd said, face expressionless and tone bland.
Hephaestion nodded in agreement. “Who else?”
“Perhaps Eirene should stay to care for the children and welcome any villagers who would agree to seek shelter in Scandur. I trust her judgment to maintain peace.”
Shocked by the revelation, Ganis said, “You never revealed to us that we will be bringing the people of the Midland villages here.”
“Strength in unity, remember?” Hephaestion noted. “Apart the people of Utyirth are weak. Together they are strong.” He produced his pipe and started preparing it with some of his own heaven’s weed stock.
“They need to see one another and live together. It is the way of Pax,” Eirene added. At hearing Hephaestion’s suggestion that she stay behind, Eirene disapproved, but she knew that her conflicted self was only divided because of her desire for vengeance. Her promise to Pax and Ganis, to bring justice to those who brought death upon Pertinax, had not been forgotten, but the fire within her had become controlled.
“Captain, may I stay as well?” Monolos offered. He wanted to free himself to tend for the Watcher hounds.
“The travelers need a scout.”
“I can assume the role,” Ganis said, “now that I have nothing to hide.”
Hephaestion, remembering how formidable her Dark Gift was, reflected on the suggestion. He did not know the extent of her skills, a mystery which hindered his planning, yet he expected that the limits of what she could do were greater than any of the other Parthans - but by how much? “I ignored your advice in the past and it led to catastrophe. I will not repeat the same mistake again. If you think you can replace Monolos, then so do I.”
Monolos eyed her, thankfully. She had gained his respect.
“It is settled then. Sigurd, Eirene and Monolos will remain here and prepare for the arrival of the Midlanders while the rest of us head out to convince them to join our cause.”
After the council, Ganis followed Ninazu to his chambers where he mixed and tested his potions. The Turian did not mind her presence. Within the chamber which he shared with Sigurd, Ninazu spread his plants and potions on the half of the room furthest to the door. Since knowing of his talents, she had not gotten the opportunity to ask of him to prepare a potion that would help make her feeding habits more practical, the potion Monolos had informed her about.
Thalia approached and said, “Scand bland”. Her unexpected outburst attracted the attention of the other two Parthans. “I noticed that Scand craftsmanship is rather bland. If an exaggerated degree of blandness is ever needed to express myself, I will be using the term ‘Scand bland’.” Thalia then continued heading towards the other rooms to inform the others about her epiphany. It was apparent to Ganis that she had grown accustomed to Scandur.
“Would you like another potion?” Ninazu asked, thinking of no other reason Ganis would seek him out. For now, at least, he was right.
“Indeed I would.” She sat on the bed closest to his lab
oratory, examining his herbs intently, scent and all.
“How can I help?” Ninazu meticulously examined a few containers filled with dry herbs.
“Can you craft a potion to compress and preserve blood? I cannot rely on hunting alone, unless I seek to expose myself entirely.”
He nodded. “I can mix something that would preserve blood in its original state, and believe it is possible to condense blood somehow, but I have not tried developing such concoction before. It might take me some time.”
“And I would patiently wait.”
As she prepared to exit the room, Ninazu added, “I never intended to be distant from you, and cold. I truly appreciate your presence in our Ona, Ganis. You are a good addition to our strength.”
With a smile on her face, the moroi returned to her room and started to prepare for the coming journey. The Parthans wasted no time and resumed their travels at first light.
7
Missing only Eirene, Monolos, and Sigurd, the Parthans returned to Hearthdale, using the same route they had escaped from. While traveling, they came across a hooded man clad in brown wool clothes standing at the road’s fork. The man ignored them and simply looked ahead, undecided about which path to take. They made no effort to conceal themselves as they approached him from behind.
When the group came to pass the hooded man, Hephaestion’s curiosity obliged him to say, “Hail, traveler! You seem lost.”
“I have been facing many choices lately and am beginning to confuse the important ones with the unimportant ones.”
“Then allow me to assist you, friend.”
The man then looked at him and smiled. “Apologies for my indiscretion, but it is me who has been sent here to assist you, friend.” The hood and cloak hid most of his features save for his bright brown eyes, pale skin and thick pink lips.
The Parthans made no effort to hide their confusion, eyeing one another for answers that never came. “Let us move and not waste our time with him,” Ganis, impatient as she was and determined to proceed, suggested.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said. “I am Volition, and I have been sent here to deliver a message to you.”
Dumbfounded, the Parthans prepared themselves, hands falling on steel and bodies tensed. After observing the situation, Hephaestion signaled his followers to stand down.
“Were you the one who convinced King Ragnar to spare his prisoner?” Hephaestion asked.
“Indeed it was I who did so. Nevertheless, that matter has been resolved and concluded by your friend there.” He pointed at Ganis. How did he know so much? Without giving them a chance to react, he added, “And now it is your turn to be given a choice. You can proceed to rally the Midlanders and continue on to the lands of the Scylds; or return to the lands of the Scands and polish your plan. The choice is yours and yours alone.”
“We know of our choices, Volition. What can you tell us about the outcomes?” Ganis asked.
“That both yield different results that I have not been made aware of yet.” The man then looked at the forked road and gestured, “Ah! I finally remember which path I must take.” Without warning or farewells he continued on the chosen path.
“What does he intend?” Ganis asked of Hephaestion, eyes still on the man.
“It is simply a mind trick. He suggested two choices to prevent us from considering others. By explicitly noting them, we become blind to a multitude of different options. We often use such tactics during war to maneuver our adversaries as we wish.”
“So it was pointless?” Ganis was relieved, now shifting her gaze upon her captain.
Hephaestion presented her with a brief smile and added, “Knowing of this trick does not make us any less susceptible to it. The damage has already been done. We have been blinded.”
Volition disappeared on the road he chose and the Parthans continued on with their journey, towards Hearthdale as they intended.
Part II: Leads to Distant Light