The Union 224 Anger

On top of the stage was Her Highness Sarah. Standing alongside were Falconheads. She was crying- crocodile tears Asit knew. But those droplets of sadness were so damn convincing. He was nearly moved.

"My citizens" Her voice trembled, sobs in between "I bring terrible news. We have lost. The Union has defeated our armies. They have butchered our people. The Union's legions will enter this city soon enough. And you...you will fall under their rule"

"Never!" the people shouted in unison. Seering, burning anger was in their voice.

"I beg you my citizens, I beg you to remember their sins. The brutes may occupy our city, they may take our homes and eat our grains, they may make our children into slaves, but they could never make us yield. I tried to defend you. We tried. We lost anyway. But there is no shame in defeat. As long as we never give up, as long as our swords remain sharp, they can never make us submit"

Asit shook his head in disgust. Prince Skall had his faults, but the Prince was a hundred times better than this woman.

"King Harold escaped. We have been deceived. Several nobles betrayed us. Such folly. Such smut. The enemies play cruel and dirty"

Angry murmurs erupted like Hellfire. They were restless like a disturbed nest of bees. Whatever Sarah wanted to do, it worked. Asit could only imagine the headache the Union's monarchs would have in ruling this city.

"But fear not my citizens. I am here. I am with you. I will go back to Wismar and assemble spears and my swords to your aid. A hundred thousand and more- we will hit them with hundreds of thousand of spears. The Lion will croak. The Pelican will have its wings cut. I shall come back. I will never abandon you. Know this my beloved, I promise to you- I shall return!"

Bellows of support filled the air. It was terrifying. Asit saw the power of words. Others treat gold and armies and lands and birthright as their weapons. But at that moment Asit knew- words were more terrifying. Words could hit deep into the heart. Words could last a lifetime. A charismatic leader could bring an entire nation to arms. The smug King of Castonia was good with words. Sarah was too. Both were able to inspire true loyalty. If this continues then Prince Skall would be deposed as the heir.

In honor of Amir, his beloved son, Asit must kill her. Only Prince Skall should lead Wismar.

Asit sheathed his hand under his cloak. He grasped it, the small crossbow already loaded with poisoned arrow. He needed but a single hit.

Asit moved his hands. Bringing the weapon level to his chin, he gripped the trigger. The arrow flew, straight and unhindered- until it wasn't.

On of the Falconheads accepted the bolt. If it penetrated even a bit of his skin, Asit could only guess. Sarah then eyed him with a mock on her lips. Asit failed.

He stepped back as the heads of the people turned to him. He must escape at once. They will rip him apart. He felt somebody block him from behind. Asit drew his dagger, his last resort, and stabbed. The belly of a fat man accepted the blade. The fat man crouched in pain. But in his place stood another, angrier person. His cloak was yanked many times. It was torn. Soon, he himself was being torn. He saw blood, his blood. He felt death, his death.

**********

It was silent. Lucia was jarred by the lack of noise as they entered Mythrille. Sarah Wismar was defeated, her army had to retreat to Wismar. Canton was theirs.

It was different when they entered Heraldshome. The people there were throwing insults. But here the people only offered silence. She preferred accepting insults than the silence of the citizens of Mythrille. Silence heightens emotion. Silence was like Hellfire to hate. She could feel their sticky looks. Timothy and she were in danger if they stay here any longer.

King Harold was inside a carriage. The Cantonese King was still battered and needed rest. It was not wise. A show like this was not wise. Their hatred would only deepen. But they had to enter the city. Mythrille sat near the border of Canton and Wismar. When Sarah comes back, this city would be the first one she would attack. Lucia doesn't like it. Defending against the Wismarines with disgruntled citizens at the back was dangerous. But Timothy was willing to take a risk.

"How many days will we stay here?" Lucia asked discretely.

"Two at most. We will leave Goldentooth legion here and Tear legion on Cloudcliff"

"Is that wise?"

"No, it's not. Absolutely not. But what choice do we have? If we leave this region without a leader, a power vacuum would propel local leaders into power. There would be division and violence. By the time we come back, this place would be tattered" Timothy sighed "We desire Canton to be our vassal. But what use is a broken vassal?"

"I see" Lucia looked around. They were glaring. Some were still inside their homes and looking at the passing Castonian legions by their opened windows.

*********

The boy ran fast. On his hand was something covered in cloth. It was heavy. It was cumbersome beyond belief. But it was the only thing he had left after his father died.

His father was killed by the Castonians. He had heard that Her Highness Sarah led a force to defend Mythrille from the Union. It was a noble idea, he thought then. His father also too. That's why his father volunteered to raise his sword and defend Mythrille. His father promised him to bring down at least five Castonians.

His father died. He had heard that the Castonians slaughtered even those who surrendered. It was a true defeat. They say his father died a hero. He doesn't need their confirmation. His father was a hero. But now his father was no more, buried and rotting in the soil along with the rest of the defenders. He was alone, an orphan just like thousands of children in Mythrille.

He put the thing on his pocket and climbed on the crumbling brick wall of a house. He had done this many times and he knew which bricks could hold and which could lead him to a nasty fall. Dust and bits of bricks fell as he ascended to the roof. His pacing was fine and his grip was good. Finally he grabbed the clay tile of the roof. One heave and he was on top.

They were so many of them. From the gate to the center of the city, the Castonians lined. They were clad in black armor despite the heat. Their heads were covered in coifs, fit to their skins. On their hands, pointed up, were their halberds- one of those glinting weapons must be the one that ended his father's life.

They were proud, and they were right to be. Because they were strong. He could see now that there was no shame in his father's death. Anyone would die when fighting these brutes.

He then saw two people- a man and a woman. They were on horseback, white horses. Glinting crowns were on top of their heads. He knew they were the real enemies.

"You are not thinking about firing a bolt towards them, aren't you?" a voice said and he almost fell when he saw a man sitting on the roof beside him. Black coat, a weird hate with a stitch and a single tooth replaced with gold, the man was strange.

"Who...What..."

"Name's Shadow, child" The man pointed to the crowned man and woman "You hate them?"

"I do" The boy affirmed "They killed my father. They are killers. We don't want them here"

"Such ungrateful things you are then" Shadow said harshly "I once thought that they could unite all humans but seeing people like you makes me question if such thing is indeed possible. You just don't know but they are sacrificing a lot for you. They could just leave Mythrille and Cloudcliff to rot under the weight of local feuds but they are risking their forces to instill peace and order here. But here you are, whining and pointing your anger towards the wrong people. Well you are young. You are visibly stupid. I just hope you would learn soon"

Shadow rose. He patted dust from his black coat. "A word of advice, stay out of trouble. The Queen wouldn't let orphans like you starve. She has a tender spot for children. Just ignore voices of rebellion and you'll be fine. So long kid"

The man whose name is Shadow walked towards the edge of the roof. His movements were quick and smooth when he descended.

The boy returned his glare towards the two monarchs. No, he decided. He doesn't need their mercy. He took the thing from his pocket and peeled the cloth. The bronze image of Ashkara with open wings gave him courage. This was his father's most prized possession. Now it was his. And just like his father before him, he would never abandon his hatred.

Chapter end