Nightwing95Aethelhelm the Undying
Galenave
“Death to the Bitch-Empress!” The words hit the Undying Knight’s ears like thunder bolts. He could not quite process what he was seeing; it all seemed surreal.
Some men lived simple lives, tending farms and raising families. They built things. When they died, they left the world a better place than before. Though their lives were short, they had meaning.
Aethelhelm’s life was unending, and, it seemed to him, utterly meaningless.
Born the son of a warrior, sworn to a chief who was sworn to a chief who had opposed Illyrica’s expansion, so many years ago. Since he could walk, war had been his entire life. When he was a child, he would train constantly under his father’s stern gaze. When he was a youth, he carried his sword into bloody battle, raiding across the border into the Empire, and then fighting in the pitched battles that saw his Caesters, his people, utterly defeated. Pressed from the north by their ancient Borian enemies, and with the legions seizing town after town, he had fled with his kin to the south, where he continued to wage war.
Then he had had his encounter with the Lady, and with her mark burned into his arm, he found himself waging war on behalf of the empress he had cursed his entire life. He campaigned against the damn Borians for years. He died for the second time there, crossing the river Khad, when a Borian sheep-molester’s javelin struck him in the shoulder, and he drowned in the river, only to rise again whole and unharmed. When that war was over, he was sent to wage war on every frontier. He gutted Atar tribesmen, gutted Lesmanian regulars, and butchered the occasional vilespawn. He killed bandits and raiders, pirates and invaders. He killed boys, young and old. He killed the occasional woman, as well, who didn’t die any easier than their menfolk. And he killed children. They were the worst; as long as he lived, he would be haunted by the boys he had slain, some so young they might have been girls. And he had resigned himself to living forever.
This last war had been a tolerable one, truth be told. He had been lent- like a damn horse, but he had also resigned himself to being a tool to the Lady- to Exarch Kalon, ambushing Lesmanian patrols that became lost and “accidentally” crossed into Illyrican territory, klutzes as they were. They were numerous and well trained, but on the flip side, they were also willing, regular soldiers. Far easier to take the life of a men-at-arms than that of a peasant conscript forced from his village at sword point. With his fellow knights, he kept Ilyrica safe and her aristocracy fat.
He had come to hate war. The killing never seemed to accomplish anything. But for all his disdain for it, at least it had a sense to it. It was chaos,certainly, but organized, intended chaos, with a clear goal in mind, the destruction of the enemy. If you did not always comprehend what the enemy was doing, at least you knew the motive, that whatever they did was somehow intended to hurt you.
At that very moment, he longed for that sense of clarity.
“Wake up, Galans! Wake up, people of the Empire! You are being lied to: the empress you cling to is a demon, who has deceived you all!” The speaker was a bone thin and visibly deranged man, his shouts cracking is if he was overcome with emotions as he orated. He had a long and incredibly filthy beard, which had long ago been discolored by malnutrition. He seemed as old as a man could possibly be, though in all likelyhood he was younger than Aethelhelm himself. Odd thought, that.
“Famine and sickness, these are the punishments of the true gods for your sins! While you starve and toil and die, your imperial overlords feast and fornicate.” He pointed his bony finger in the general direction of the sea, though even from his podium there was no way he could actually see the port from there. “Make no mistake, it is they who are responsible for the fire that destroyed your homes and livelihoods. The Bitch-Empress, the She-Demon, she feeds on your suffering and misery! She wants to keep you under control, and fire is her tool! The gods have told me this!”
The crowd became more and more restless, and larger as people streamed in. Now, close to a hundred people were listening to the madman. Some glanced at each other skeptically or laughed, but far too many were cheering and shouting. He did not fail to notice that the troublemakers were disheveled and tattered, while the critics were clearly well fed and well off. Aethelhelm turned to Humes, the dour knight next to him, and grabbed his shoulder. “Gather the guards, and disperse this rabble,” he hissed. “Throw the madman in the dungeons.” Humes nodded and raced away to the nearby guardhouse. For the life of him, Aethelhelm could not comprehend why the guards had not acted already: Here was a man preaching treachery and heresy, in daylight, in a heavily populated area, with several guardsmen just watching. And he was doing it completely unmolested. What was the Lady thinking, allowing this? Had she lost all her damn sense?
The mad prophet just went on and on. “They keep the Lady from us, imprisoned in their Citadel. They dare not let us see her, for they know she would urge us to rise up! Where is the Lady of the Galans, I ask you!? Death approaches! Ten thousand ships, the fleet of the gods, sails to lay waste to the Empire! A great horde comes from the west, the vengeance of the war god, Ata’i! And the Lesmanians march on this very city! Ten thousand men, but three days away. Famine and war, that is what the false God has brought you. Repent! Repent!”
Aethelhelm shook his head and continued on his way to the Citadel, just in time for Numes to arrive with a conscripted contingent of guards to break up the plaza’s crowd. He could not stomach another minute of the lunacy. Fire attacks? Hordes from the west, ten thousand ships? Ten thousand Lesmanians? He knew for a fact that the countryside was clear of foes, though violence had erupted as peasants competed desperately for the little food there was. He had seen this kind of thing before: fear was a disease, and as it spread it became more and more pronounced as everyone worked themselves up to a fever pitch. As he walked away, he could hear the uproar behind him as the guards tried to disperse a growing and tumultuous mob. This kind of mass hysteria was typically reserved for cities about to be besieged; that didn’t bode well for his peace of mind.
They were five to continue to the Citadel, armored and armed as befitting Knights of the Wings, the order of ten which stood above all others in virtue and might in this corner of the world. They were figures of legend and adoration. In normal times, the common people showered them with praise and adulation, mistaking them for something other than the killers they were. But these were not normal times. As he walked in the rough packed dirt streets, past rough structures he’d hardly call houses, he saw rows of commoners watching their march, but their looks were suspicious, not adoring. He could see why: most were visibly racked with hunger, bone thin and tattered.
Galenave had survived the last year’s crop failure fine. It had plenty of stores, after all, even if they were depleted after that year. When he had left at the tail end of it, in the fall, it had seemed as if things would be going back to normal. The occasional dispatch he received from the Lesmanian front indicated that this year the harvest had failed yet again, and that the famine had strick. But he had not grasped the severity of the situation from so far away. Riding to the city, he had witnessed fertile landscapes give way to barren wastelands, where nothing seemed to grow. It seemed some terrible disease had afflicted the region, killing most plants as they grew. Some orchards still provided sustenance, and the fishermen still brought in their catches, but these food sources were nowhere near sufficient to sustain the entire region. Curiously, only the lands beholden to Galenave seemed affected, the harvests around Ardaza and in the western foothills being bountiful this year. He was not one to label every misfortune as the work of black magic, but this seemed passingly queer.
The countryside had been in a pitiful state, truth be told. Some villages were hit worse than others, and he came upon settlements completely empty, the people having fled or been killed in cattle raids. When men grew desperate, their hearts shrivelled and shrunk away, and beyond Galenave’s walls banditry had become widespread. He had dispatched the Niassa Parthon with their contingent of soldiers to hunt down the renegades, but he suspected that regardless of how many they killed, the problem would persist as long as its cause remained.
He had heard nothing of the pox. But the giant trench outside the city walls, filled with corpses, confirmed for him the rumors he had heard on the road, that a terrible sickness was wracking the city, brought in from foreign trading ships. He could not see any visible sick spectators as he rode by, but wondered at what lied behind the shut doors of the houses he passed.
All in all, the city was a mess. He could understand why the people were agitated, but not why the Lady had done seemingly nothing to quell the unrest. He hoped he would find answers in the Citadel, where she resided and ruled.
As he pased a bend, the final approach to the castle’s hill, they came upon a line of riders in front of them, armored and emblazed as Exarch Lysvita’s personal cohort of guards. She was not one of the riders, however. Instead, they were led by three figures he recognized: Guzno, the fat representative of the merchants of the city, Merric Tarras, head of the territory’s imperial administration, and Edward Went, the knight commonly called the Jester.
“My lord Aethelhelm!” the Jester announced, putting a large emphasis on the “lord” knowing such a title was improper to his knightly peer as well as disliked personally by Aethelhelm, “It’s so good to see you. It’d have been a shame if you missed all the excitement in the city recently.” He had a big stupid grin on his face, like he always did.
“A little excitement? More like complete anarchy. What the hell is going on here?,” he growled as he shot the younger man a glare that could kill..
The smile vanished. “Well… there was the harvest that failed, and the plague… and what happened at the docks...”
“We would be glad to tell you everything that has transpired, my Lord, but in a more fitting place,” Tarras interrupted, the bony man showing as much emotion as he ever did, that is to say none at all. “Pray accompany us to the Citadel.”
“Like hell. I’m not waiting one more damn minute to get some answers. That mob down in the plaza? They’re preaching fucking treason. Where is Lysvita, and why is she content to let Mother Night bring her wrath down upon her people?”
“You could tell me,” the administrator snapped, before looks from his companions queued him in on the fact that he’d said too much. A few passer-bies had stoped to listen, and some began to whisper around them. Tarras sighed, and turned is horse around, the others following suit. ”“This is not a fitting conversations for the streets. The Citadel is just ahead. This situation... It shames me to say, we need your help, knight-captain.”
* * * * * * * * * *
“Gone.” The Undying One said the word slowly, savoring each syllable, hardly believing it. He stared out the window, the view showcasing near the entirety of Galenave’s sprawl.
“Gone,” fat Guzno confirmed unhappily.
Apparently, she had vanished completely a month ago, as the food crisis worsened. Nobody seemed to know where she had gone, nor had she left any indication. He had known his Exarch for fifty years now, but never before had he seen her seemingly abandon her duties in such a way. To leave Galenave amid such a crisis, without so much as a hint to her intentions to any of her advisors? Such a thing might be believed of the Archon Soraya, whose mind nobody knew, but of the Lady it was unbelievable.
“How is that even possible?,” Dugren wondered. “Such news would spread like wildfire throughout the land, within Galenave as well as without it. When Vadigar disappeared beyond the savage lands, on the other side of the world, word of it reached us in weeks.” The knight put her hands on the table, as if to hold herself steady.
Jester looked uncomfortable. “That’s simple, really. We didn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t have news come out amidst all this anarchy that the Exarch was gone. Well, it was a secret, until now.” He made a mock bow in the direction of Tarras, who returned a blank look of mild irritation.
“We don’t even know if she’s alive,” Guzno said unhappily.
A moments silence ensued. Sighing, Aethelhelm drew his dirk, outstretched his hand on the stone wall, and plunged the knife into it with all his force, gritting his teeth at the pain as blood splurted from the wound. Wordless, he turned around, and showed the hand to the others. Before their very eyes, the bleeding slowed to a crawl, and the wound closed. “Nightly Mother,” the merchant lord muttered, his face pale.
Aethelhelm looked at his hand with disinterest, watching the skin sew itself shut as the pain receded. “She’s alive. Which just makes all this even stranger.” He threw Jester an accusatory glare. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve let things go to shit in her absence.”
Jester crossed his arms. “It’s hardly our fault if the shit keeps piling up on our doorstep. Things have been out of our hands for a while now.”
“Is that so? And yet Humes seems to have had success in throwing the idiots below in the dungeons. I wonder, are you three lazy, or just craven?”
Jester grimaced, and scratched his head. That had clearly hit home. Guzno stepped forward. “With all respect, Captain, sending Sir Humes like you did was a folly. It just gave the madman credibility: the lower town is in uproar! We let these false prophets preach following our long tradition of not interfering with local beliefs. He was just one beggar among thousands, hardly a threat to anyone.”
“Hardly a threat,” Aethelhelm echoed unbelieving, staring down. Lady above, I’m too old for this nonsense. “Yes, I saw that. That crowd was just a social gathering, and his rants about Mother Night were veiled compliments, I’m sure.”
“He was preaching heresy for certain,” Tarras interjected, “but the Her Excellency would doubtless understand that offensive words are preferable to provoking a riot-”
“Every word from his beggar mouth brought this region closer to doomsday!” Aethelhelm brought down his mailed gauntlet on the table with all his force, splintering the fine wood. He saw things clear as day. These two feared the peasant mobs far more than they did the armies of the Empire. They’d been born long after this land had been conquered. They’d never known what happened to those who defied Illyrica. He closed his eyes and made an effort to regain his composure. “Merric Tarras. Lord Guzno. Your services to the Lady have been appreciated. Now leave. You are banished from all lands beholden to this Citadel.”
Silenced ensued. The two men looked at one another, shocked. Tarras recovered first. “Captain, it is not in your power to banish us from anywhere. We are members of the Council-”
“The Council is disbanded as well, by my decree as our Exarch’s right hand.” He straightened himself up. He was by far the oldest in the room, and also the tallest. He loomed over the others like a mountain, glaring at them, daring them to object. “With Lysvita gone, I am assuming temporary control of the city; This province needs an iron hand, whether it likes it or not. Giant, Boy, take a force of guards and inform the esteemed council members. Should they object, lock them in the dungeons. Hroth-” he pointed at the two buffoons- “get these fools out of my face and out of this city. Tanith, go find wherever Humes is now, and take to the streets. Have heralds announce a curfew; any found roaming the streets after nightfall will be assumed to be bandits, and treated as such.”
As his knights sprang to action, he turned to Jester, who had that infuriating smile he always seemed to sport. He wanted nothing more than to crack the young knight in the face then and there; why such a man was chosen for the wings by the Lady, he’d never know. “Wipe that grin off your face, I’ve not forgotten about you. I’ll decide how I want to roast your guts later. Tell me everything else that happened.”
Jester sighed. “What hasn’t happened? Well, you know about the crop failure, and our fair lady’s disappearance. The famine just got worse and worse. Bread has tripled in price in the last week alone, while the only meat to be found anywhere is rodent. As far as we can tell, nothing edible has grown anywhere inside our borders. We could still bring in food from the traders, but Tarras showed me the treasury; we aren't exactly rich. We certainly couldn't afford buying food for the populace, nor could they buy it themselves, at the prices imports were going at. When I suggested we simply seize and distribute their cargoes, Guzno nearly exploded. He insisted that if we just took the food, Galenave would never see another trading galley for a thousand years. Not to mention that half the overpriced moldy foodstuffs are his own property."
"Even then, things weren’t so bad, but a few weeks ago the plague came in from one of the trading galleys - amid the chaos we never found out which one, not that it matters much- and lots of people died from that. You might have seen our attempt to bury the dead outside. Well, we eventually decided to just sequester all the sick on Mud Street. Given how weak they were, and seeing how little food there is to go around, they’re almost certainly all… dead.”
“A few days ago, things really started to escalate out of control. News came in from the north about some Atar border raid, which scared a lot of people, and then there was rumors that Lesmania had invaded and were besieging Sanc Valatir. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
“When we left the borderlands, tensions were high, but there was certainly no war. And I don’t believe for a second that the Lesmanians managed to rout all our forces there in the week since.”
“Well, the people here believed it in a second. Panic has been building up. Then some fishermen started claiming that an immense fleet is sailing to conquer the Empire as well, some ten thousand ships.”
“More stupidity.” Once this kind of hysteria started, men were ready to believe anything.
“Right, that’s what we judged as well. We tried getting word out that these threats were all pure fiction, but there’s no convincing the masses once they get some silliness in their heads. Everything was still under control, so we didn’t worry too much.”
“But then, two nights ago, all hell broke loose in the docks. Fires broke out throughout the district: before we could even act, a third of the wharfs were ashes. It was no use trying to fight the blaze. It’s been dry recently, and we couldn’t put out the fires no matter what we tried. It was arson, you see. Somebody had littered the city with pitch. I had the guard tear down all the structures around the docks instead, and let the inferno burn itself out. All in all, we lost almost almost the entire dockside, and damn near every trading ship too. Some wharfs survived, and we’ve been rebuilding, but… anyway, we haven’t even tried counting the dead.”
“That fire was the tipping point. The commoners are in hysteria; these kinds of false prophets have been popping up everywhere preaching their nonsense. If it’s worth anything, I wanted to clear them out of the city, but the Council - by intermediary of Lord Fat and Lord Stone- insisted on avoiding confrontations. The merchants are terrified: I’m certain they’ve hired more mercenaries than we have guards by now.”
Aethelhelm waited for a moment, expecting more. “Is that all?”
“Pretty much. I don’t see how things could get any worse anyway.”
The captain of the winged knights sighed wearily and rubbed his forehead. “Well, I suppose I can leave Sir Humes in charge here. Boy is older, but and more.... Imaginative, but he a steady hand is required here. No, Humes should be able to keep things in order until I come back.”
“Until you come… What? You aren’t staying? But I thought...”
“We don’t need one more old man here. We need the Lady. We need Lysvita. Besides… I have an idea where to look.”
