Plight of an Empire

Chapter Twenty Nine- part 2: Arkayus

It was the silence that was the unnerving part.

Only the patter of falling snow could be heard beyond the occasional whiny of a horse.  They were all waiting.  Waiting for something, anything.  It was the waiting that was the most difficult.  Every sound, real or imagined, was a Behemoth coming to sink its teeth into Arkayus.  He wondered if he would taste better than the commonfolk the white demons had been devouring.  He hoped he was a bitter kick to the teeth.

Every man stared into the white void ahead of them.  The south was secured with the Rocks and Hecuba behind them.  Only the north and east stood to provide any threat.  Had it not been for the sudden snow storm plaguing them, they would be able to see the rocky plains laid out before them.  The gods truly had cursed them when they delivered these white demons and the storm at once.  Arkayus silently wondered whether he was to blame.  Perhaps everyone was right about the magic-born being cursed.  He had never done anything to prove that he was not cursed except be born to a high family.  But that in and of itself was a curse.  He was a magic-born born to the royal family of the country that most hates magic in the empire.  Perhaps if he were to die here, it would be a blessing to the empire.  Perhaps the Behemoths were sent for him.

A scream shattered the silence.  Then, chaos reigned.

They came from the south.  That much was clear through the frenzy of crying destriers, shouting men, and roaring Behemoths.  His father was a fool for believing that mountains can hold back the Behemoths.  They had crossed them entering into the empire, they can cross them to attack from behind.

The king spurred his horse into a gallop, away from the fighting.  “Arkayus, with me!” he shouted.  What is he doing?  “To the rear!”  Then it dawned on him.  The king was fleeing.  Had he not told Arkayus that a king’s presence was what gave his men the courage to fight on?   His father was nothing more than a fat craven with a gold piece on his head.  All his talk of bravery was just hot air.

No, he thought.  I will fight with my men for my people!  He turned his destrier and spurred it into the battle.  He unsheathed his Iceglass blade and ran at the first Behemoth he saw.  The beast was massive.  Tree trunks for arms and legs, with swords on each finger.  It never saw him coming, only felt the cold plunge of steel into flesh.  It howled and swung at the prince.  He easily dodged the wounded beast, but the destrier was not so lucky.  The swords on its fingers cleaved the horse’s head clean off its body.  It buckled into the snow, sending Arkayus flying off.

He laid in the snow, his mind muddled from the impact.  He heard the roar of the beast he had stabbed and shot up.  The prick had only seemed to anger the beast.  Red blood stained its white fur, but he didn’t know whether it came from the wound or the horse.  He prayed it was from the wound.  It sank its teeth into the horse and feasted on its victory.  Its black eyes shot up and met with Arkayus.  A growl rumbled through its chest and Arkayus fumbled for his sword, but found it gone.

The Behemoth placed an arm on the destrier’s headless body and crushed it.  Warm blood splattered on the prince’s face.  He fought back the bile rising in his throat and scrambled back away from the beast.  With his sudden movement, it charged.  Fear took a hold of him and he froze.  He watched his end come for him.  Perhaps the gods would be kind enough to bless him a quick death.  But they had never been so kind before.

Just when the beast was upon him, it toppled over, a sword sticking out of its back.  Arkayus watched as Thane Mikald pulled his sword from the beast and ran over to him.  There was a fury in his eyes that Arkayus scarcely thought possible.

“You, fool of a boy!” he shouted, hauling Arkayus up.  “Your father thought you were dead!”

“I lost my sword,” he pointed to the crushed remains of his horse, “and my horse.”