He woke to the smell of burnt wood and the stale taste of ash in his mouth. The war had been going for a while, now, but Marawan did not falter. Dressing himself, he stared out the window. The black smoke rose high up in the sky and spread over, dwindling as it reached the woods ahead to the east.
As he went outside the constant noise had eaten up the whole town. Carriages went in and out. Men carried dogs into their kennels, others shoed their horses. Everyone was at his work, at his post. Marawan gazed about him. The black smoke still went high up in the east.
He walked over to a close tavern to break his fast, as two cartwheels went by him carrying covered goods. Food, he thought. They've been cut off the main road, and sea was the only way through. The carriages went toward the tavern and stopped. Two soldiers went down and started emptying the carriages. They brought out two wheels of cheese from each cartwheel; four sacks of oat and barley, rice, beans, oranges, and mandarins.
The winds of autumn crept from the west cold and hard. Marawan passed between men gathering around the cartwheels to help get the food around. They all shouted that food had arrived at last, and more men came. Marawan took two mandarins and went into the tavern, the men bowed meekly to him.
Inside the hearth glazed with red burning light. The tavern's hall was big and it held six tables with their own chairs. The owner served four soldiers gathering around the table. He brought them eggs and salt beef, and a big mug of ale.
"Aye, this'll be fine for the morning," one of the soldiers said.
"Ale in the morning. Yes, that'll serve you well," Marawan said, anger apparent in his voice. He sat by the counter and peeled a mandarin. The soldiers looked at him, rose, then fell back to their seats.
"My lord," Lakmey said, drinking ale, "You are welcome to join us."
"I would've loved to share the eggs, but now that you're drinking ale with it…" He laid the peels on the counter and threw the whole mandarin in his mouth. It was sweet, with a hint of bitterness after that; juice trickled from his mouth. "Finish your meal and make sure the food outside is not stolen, like the last time. [I'll take a finger for every missing seed.]If I hear an orange's seed is missing, I'll start with your hand first, Lak, and then I'll cut off the others'." He finished peeling off the second mandarin and ate it, spitting the seeds in his hand.
Lakmey broke a piece of white bread and ate it with beef and eggs. He then took a long drink from his cup, grinning. "You got it my lord. Nothin'll be missing this time, not even a seed. On that you can count." The soldiers nodded, finishing their food.
"Lord Marawan," Lisky, the tavern owner said docilely, "Can I fix my lord something to break his fast?"
"You know I hate being called lord." Marawan stood up, the seeds still in his hand, warm and humid. Lisky brought him a fresh, warm piece of flatbread with salted beef and gravy. The steam rose from the food as Marawan started at it.
When he finished, he pushed back his chair and went for the door. "When you finish with the food, Lak, find Conser and join me in the meeting chamber," he said, facing the door.
Outside, the sun escaped the clatter of clouds that covered the sky, but the wind and the cold insisted. It has been cold since the coming of autumn, with a mix of rain and wind. It seemed like a long time they have not seen a warm weather. Three years, Marawan thought. It's been three years since the war started, and they only took a few towns. A small victory in the least.
Kullin, Marawan's brother, and the true heir to the Islands, has given orders to push through past Gulltown. Actually, his brother wanted to take Laemer, but they both knew it was nigh impossible. The Rebels were always unyielding when it came to Laemer or pretty much any other town in the Islands. Marawan and his brothers wanted the Islands for a long time, and they held it longer. And now, after many years, they are defending their usurped lands.
A small town like Gulltown Eryan took you nearly to no place that you wanted to go to. There was the tavern, there the watchtower that Marawan and half his men took as bedchambers; to the east, kennels and barracks by the woods, and to the west lay the sea. If anything good attested to this town, it was the sea. As the Rebels cut off the passing road between the Wayward Castle and Gulltown, the sea had come much in aid. Marawan walked to the deck. The smell mixed with the humid cold air filled his lungs. The men were at their boats, clearing still what they had brought from the Wayward Castle. Steel, food, clothes. If we are going to win this war, he thought, we'll be needing more than that. He grimaced at that thought, playing with the seeds in his hand. They were frail, soft, easy to crush, just like a human heart. He pushed a fingernail through one, and crushed another, then threw them all into the sea.
Gulls circled the sky, their voices loud and clear. They're laughing at us. They're laughing at me. Marawan had always found the shriek of those creatures to be laughter. But the joke's on them, he thought, remembering how he used to hunt them with his cousins when he was a little boy. The memory brought a smile to his face. But that memory brought more memories, and Marawan was not a man who fond of them. If anything, he would do everything to erase the past. But after all, everything had passed, and now he is here, at Gulltown. All thanks to Kullin, who'd brought him up, raised him, taught him how to be a man, how to fight, and how to be loyal. Loyalty is what keeps the world from intact, was what his brother would say every time before their fighting lessons. You do not hold a sword if you do not wish to hold loyalty as a value. And in that he heartly believed.
The constant distracting noises of the men emptying their boats brought him back from his thought. They were nearly done, now. He remembered ordering this cargo weeks ago when he saw black, wooden chest at the bay. He walked towards the men.
"Hold," he said. The men stood still, their backs hung low, carrying the long, black chest heavily enameled with silver streaks all over it. Marawan gestured with his hand for the men to put it down. The men did as told, and then unlocked it at his command.
Marawan pushed the long chest open with his leg, its hinges creaking. Inside, a faint glow broke free at first, tricking the eye with an instant blindness. Inside, a long sword lay. It was very appealing that men at the bay gathered around to take a look, and Marawan allowed it. It is just as he said it would be, he thought. The hilt of the sword was rounded with thread lines of red silk, its pommel a ruby gemstone, dark red, like the color of blood, and it shone bright in the light of the morn.
Marawan bent and took the sword in hand. You are not holding a sword, he told himself, you are holding history, you are holding Conqueror. The grip felt smooth and soft in his hand, easy to control. He slowly removed the scabbard, the light reflecting on the blade. The excitement rushed through his body, through his veins and into his heart, and he felt it almost exploding. He was holding the sword of his great-great-great grandfather.
"Do you know what this is?" Marawan asked the air, turning the sword in his hand.
"My lord," one of the chest men said. "This is…It's…" The man immediately fell to his knee, and the others followed.
Marawan raised the sword, piercing the air. "This the Red King's. This. Is. Our. Legacy." He made sure to spell every word slowly and carefully. "And for this we fight. For this we will win and bring our glory days back." The men roared, rising from their kneeling, punching the air with white-knuckled fists, shouting THE RED KING, THE RED KING. Suddenly, a voice came that killed the roar. They all turned their back on the sea.
VAAARROOOOOOM. VAAARROOOOOOOOOM.
Shit. We can't possibly be under attack. VAAARRRROOOOOOOOOOOM.
He turned back to his men. "I hate to break our moment of fervor, but those bastards are here. Let's go defend our city." With that, he walked out of the bay, and back into town. His men followed, leaving the cargo at its place.
He unsheathed his old sword and threw it to a soldier passing by, and the soldier caught it mid air by the grip. Marawan gazed at Conqueror, smiled. He hated himself for that, for allowing the enthusiasm of the sword to seduce him away from what he hated most. He hated to fight, and he hated to kill, but this was war. Fighting was inevitable, and so was killing. Rage filled his heart, and he'd swear he could feel it darkening. Good, he thought, grinning. Let it be them who die, for I intend to live. And Marawan could feel it taking over him. Let's feed Conqueror.