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→ A Quite Night in Grendell Some day, some hour, somewhere, a long, long time ago.
The day had never matched the night. Not even on the brightest days in which light had illuminated all that one's eye could see upon the battlefield. A light which cast a heat upon rolling fields and showed the slightest movement in the grass as the wind swept it with a hand of grace likened to a mother upon a child’s head. A light that gleamed off the polish of his blade and reflected off the surface of his arrow laden in the quiver upon his waist, one which almost blinded his eyes when shone upon that of the armor worn lowly as they fought for a land that wasn’t theirs anymore. Yet, even on the most beautiful days in which the sun brightened the color of the flowers often found on the fields and smiles on his men’s faces when a battle won, an Inburian dealt with, Rhistel couldn’t help but relinquish to the beckoning call of night’s voice with an allure akin to those sirens, whose voices could carry but any man astray, herald in his sister’s silly tales of young. He couldn’t help but resist the ever-grasping hands of the land of dreams as they clawed at the back of his head to just get a glimpse of all that the night contained. It was such a far outcry from the life he lived, a reprieve, almost, from the days he faced upon that sun that most would consider their saving grace.
Rhistel tightened his gloved hand a bit more upon the reigns of his horse, as they rode softly upon the darkened field in which only hours ago his hands had participated in the waste that had been laid to it. Although with eyes as old as his they had been marred by sights much worse than the current one that sat to the side of him, a deeper part could bring his body to fully bring his head to face the full field as Rhistel continued down the random path the wind had carved for him. The two continued at a light, steady, pace that was almost silent save for breath against the chill that had cursed the lands, and the clanking of the metal which served his saving grace for life but too many times against that of his horse’s armor. His eyes glanced back to the encampment he had departed but minutes ago as the light of flames that roared behind him ever so slowly dimmed from view. The moon had called him away, it always had on nights similar to the one he was enduring. Since but a wee Elgan he had always felt this sense, a temptation to see the night, the sky, all those little marks which dotted the vast expanse whose light always shone with a ferocity but was snuffed by the likes of the sun. Within those marks, within those streaks of colored lights he had likened to the ‘night’s clouds’ he found something. It was a place he was alone. A place where but in his mind only himself and the heavenly bodies existed. One free of war, free of commitment, free of obligations. One where Rhistel could embrace himself again, not simply the Captain Rhistel who stood responsible for the life of his men, for assisting Voron in building their great land, but as a Rhistel the shepherd, with the sky as his sheep. Where he could run his thoughts among their brilliance as he did with his hands through the fluff of his herd.
The hairs that stood on the back of his nose were singed as he trekked through the depth of the field. The pungent force of the miasma that rose from the body of the dead permeated the surroundings as a smell that his nose would never lose the memory of. While the sun can cast upon these lands beautiful sights, its power is one that brings forth but reality as well, as it bakes those whose lives have faded from this plane. While these lands were mostly flat, they were laden sparsely with small hills among the dulled greenery. As the best vantage point had come into his view, Rhistel turned his head back slightly. While further away from the camp than he had foretold to his comrades he would be, he needed this time for the days that were destined for them grew closer as the hours passed. His stomach lowered deeper into his chest, his heart felt a small pang as the thought of losing the young men he had come to take under his wing was like he had been crossed into his mind. Such are the days his fight continues to prevent from being brought into the realm of reality. His speed fell slightly as the point came closer and closer.
As his horse continued his slow trek across the dirt and up the slight incline, he brought him to a stop as they reached the highest point upon this whole plain, a quaint little hill one which was dwarfed by the mountains he lived among, the mountains he grew into the man he was now upon that hill. Yet he took it in with but the same respect as he held for the mountains. Rhistel’s hands came close as he pulled the leather from his fingers to free them into the chill then repeated the same action upon his other hand. His fingers, long in their grasp, laid down upon the rough iron laden with a nip of frost which constructed his helmet and lifted the leather that lined the inside up from his bleached locked beneath. His hair, now long from the days of seemingly endless battle and movement, fell and splayed upon his shoulders. Rhistel placed the helmet on his lap, and with but a wave of his hand swished the hair from out of his face and shook his head slightly to bring the locks into a collective behind him. A sigh fell from his lips as the heat turned the air foggy, it was a lone, almost solemn sigh as he let all the air from his system before bringing it back with a deep breath. It was in these times the world almost felt empty. The blue of his eyes, scanned his surroundings for a last time before gazing them into the expanse he could but never touch. His eyes feasted upon the sight in silence as he looked above.
It was as if the world had never stood so still. That expanse, one larger than even a battlefield on the flattest of plains could stretch. Despite the darkness that took most light within its maw, the fragments still shone through with persistence as it graced him with its light. The specks of brilliance almost made him forget the peril that faced them each day. Though their numbers were strong, and their horses were stronger, the threat before them continued with their trek further, and further away from the west. And as his eyes continued to train upon the vastness, the centerpiece of it all drew in his mind more than the stars could wish. The moon,as it stood in a rare state as it had been freshly healed by the Gods, shone its heavenly light with its full glory. Not a piece of it was gone as it stood the brightest among the stars. He gazed into its brightness as cured the never-ending emptiness of the sky, its beauty was one that could be captured by the eye, unlike the sun’s glory. It was this brightness that always called for him. Whether he stood among his sheep with his father’s staff as they grazed the fields, or whether he held his sword in hand cleaning it after a battle, it had always been that same moon. For decades, for centuries, always that same moon, beckoning for his embrace. His eyes closed as he took deeply the cold air through his lungs. Rhistel held that moment close, he held it tight in silence, it was very rare that in the midst of this war, he had truly felt but an ounce of peace, yet at that moment he grasped it like a lifeline. His flame in this cold
With a final exhale, the air left his lungs, and an opening of his pearly blues, the peace faded with it. While these moments were but a short blip in time, they had always felt to Rhistel like he sat there for much, much longer. He couldn’t indulge in these moments as long as he wanted, he had men to lead, land the conquer, he was but a pulley in a system much larger than himself. Rhistel's hands reached back to the mess of hair behind his head as he pulled it up before using his other hand to lower the helmet back to its spot. His hands slipped the gloves back onto his digits as he prepared to return to camp. His hands had gripped the reins as a soft smile formed on his lips beneath the dark of the helmet, his eyes glanced up to the sky once more.
No sky had ever looked this grand.
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The present day
The grit laden across what appeared to be a smooth surface of stone rubbed against the callouses that lay upon his palms. His grip had loosened only a bit as a breath fell from his lips out into the open air beyond. Rhistel’s eyelids rose from his blues as the vast speckled dark came fully into his mind once again. It was a sight that never got old to the man whose life stretched far beyond all that should be possible in this realm. As he stood there upon the balcony a soft touch of the summer's warmth slid across the surface of the cream of his waistcoat with the wind’s rolling. Like days of old, he stood as all he is and has been beneath the stripping eye of the moon, a body in the sky which saw him candidly, beneath the prim of a merchant, beneath the grit of a soldier. As but the same moon his ancestors looked upon his mind pondered if any had felt but this same connection he had with the body.
While within the sky he had found his peace, his eyes fell down upon the sprawling city of Grendell under his feet. Such was a city in which peace had vacated, which it had been slain in the square with little remorse despite the outcry of the citizenry. The Blight had made it so peace shall never touch the city, the pretenders had made it into an even further goal to reach. His blues watched as the imperial army patrolled the streets below, he had known that in present days regiments trained even long beyond the fall dusk. His ears had been greeted by the hearsay of words spouting off regarding the loss of Voron II at Lysfelt against his own brother. The great land he had fought to forge was a fractured curse of division that grew with the passing days. Even lowly peasants could see the cracks in the once-thought-impenetrable stone that was the empire.
His hands released the stone that supported his body with a step back away from the railing, and the light humid breeze rolled through once more as he stepped into the office he had held for decades. ”I never understood that, you know.” Rhistel’s hands softly closed the double doors to the balcony with a turn of a head as the voice spoke out to him. ”It’s not very hard to understand, Flin.” A small smile graced his lips as he gazed upon the slightly younger man who sat with his ancient spirit upon the sofa. A small yet ornate glass sat betwixt his fingers filled with a crimson liquid which swished with a soft, rosy aroma as he moved to fix his posture. ”Yeah, I know, I know, internal peace, something along those lines.”
”See, you get it.”Rhistel moved to the area in which Flinar sat, his hand gripping the bottle of wine that sat upon the side table, filling his own glass before taking a seat opposite of the man. ”But why?”
”Why what?” Rhistel uttered, bringing the glass to his lips.
”Why do you keep doing it? The last time you rode into battle was centuries ago. Rhistel, we are at peace.”
”You know, sometimes I think I have never truly left that field. Left my horse. Why do I keep doing it? My friend, a lifelong habit never leaves you.” A soft chuckle fell from Rhistel’s lips before continuing. ”Why do we really do anything, right? Like you, centuries upon these seas yet now is when you decide to anchor?”
A small sigh came from Flinar’s mouth, ”I do love it, Rhistel. The stakes, the seas, and by God, even the drag that is the board meetings. Yet, one child takes precedence over the other, this one still has you, Orist… Well, he only has me.”
”I.. I’m sorry, Flin. Mael, she was truly a wonder.” A somber, soft smile creeped onto Flinar’s lips as he looked over and out the window. ”Don’t be, Rhistel. No Elgan lives forever. She was a strong woman, never a day without a fight with her hard head. She died as she lived. All we can do is honor her life.”
”That is true.” Only the scraping of the breeze against the office’s windows was heard, and silence permeated throughout the room. The last sound fell from Rhistel’s lips. He raised his glass, now low in contents, up slightly as Flinar followed suit.
The silence lingered with only the swish of the liquid sounding off as Flinar refiled his glass. ”But, hey, look at it this way, you’ll always have a piece of me telling you no.” Flinar broke the silence with a smile and a soft laugh.
”Ah yes, the other child you have left me with.”
”We both know she deserved that seat. For as young as she stands, she is naught but qualified. And lighten up a bit, Rhistel, don’t you forget the days her words even tricked you. Practically my spitting image!”
”Oh that girl is a copy of you alright. Almost too similar, it’s like she took both you and Mael’s most frustrating traits.” The two men both gave a laugh as Rhistel finished speaking. ”I love the girl like she is my own kin, yet I don’t think the board has taken too kindly.”
”They’ll come around, just give her time.”
”I hope so, Flin.”
A knock sounded off from the door as the words flowed from Rhistel, his eyes panned over from his friend with a solitary phrase a lanky servant slipped into the room slowly but with a touch of grace to his movements as he shut the door behind his entrance and carried within his hands a platter with but a single envelope upon its surface. “My lord, a carrier has just arrived upon the premise with this delivery for you”
”Who is it from, Lanster” Rhistel uttered, his hand lifting the cream-colored letter from off the silver-made surface. ”General Krawiec, my lord.” His eyes lingered upon the red wax seal plastered with the indent of the Empire as it hovered before his face. Rhistel took the opener that sat beside the letter and used the blade to retrieve the white paper from within before discarding the remnants back onto the platter and sending the boy away. ”Thank you, Lanster, you may go.” His hands slid under the creases of the folded parchment, straightening it back into its standard form before reading the contents.
“Is the empire looking to discuss their contracts again?” Flinar asked as he leaned back into the sofa. ”No, dinner. With one General Oskar Krawiec.”
”I know him, the Jedgorsy, correct?”
”I believe so.”
”Are you going to go?”
Rhistel sat his wine glass upon the side table along with the letter and leaned slightly forward in his chair. ”I don’t see why not. The empire has been a loyal patron for centuries now, it’s only courtesy. I shall talk to the rest of the board about it tomorrow. But tonight is your night, my friend. Let’s drink like the night we did after our first finished contract!”
”You don’t have to tell me twice!” Flinar laughed, raising his glass towards Rhistel for him to follow suit picking back up his own glass and clanking it against his friend’s.
For Rhistel, the night was his grace. And the moon cured but all his worries.
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Grendell, Haltian Empire
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