21-2
Dusk was settling over the forest by the time Palatine had collected his men and turned the invaders’ encampment into their own base. Before him and his commander was a gathering of prisoners, those too wounded to flee the battlefield. They were kept in a group by the large shelter used to hide the ambush.
Surrounding them were several of Palatine’s men and the elusive children, their mounts growling and licking their teeth as they paced around the anxious captives. Some of the prisoners were tied and sitting, but most lay on the ground moaning or breathing erratically. Not all of them would see the morning without aid from his already tired clerics.
The commander interrupted Palatine’s contemplation. “So, what do the forest people do with prisoners?”
Palatine shook his head. “I don’t know. It has never been an issue before.” He pointed to a bear sniffing a very nervous captive. “Maybe they eat them.”
The commander chuckled. “Well, as long as I don’t have to watch.”
“I think we should consult with the lords before we do anything with them. Besides, I have a favour to ask of Syffox.”
“It would take a messenger weeks to reach Patriarch Mackyntal, and who knows where Syffox is?”
“Nonsense. Vantaiga is just over there.” Palatine pointed to the forest and winked at his commander. “She can give them the message.”
The army prefect strode towards the trees, a mix of eagerness, worry, and anger building inside of him. Why did she wait before smiting the enemy? Why did he find talking to her so difficult? Why did he dread the thought of talking to her when he so much wanted to talk to her? Was he in awe of her? Was he afraid of her? ...Was he in love with her?
He returned his focus to the trees and chastised himself for being so distracted. It was interfering with his duty as a soldier. He forced the doubts from his head. But when he reached the first tree, he hesitated before touching it.
Placing his hand on the tree, the presence of the Goddess filled him, and the apprehension he had successfully pushed aside returned. He took a calming breath before whispering to the tree, “Goddess, I need to speak to Lord Mackyntal, and I have a request of Lord Syffox.”
A sense of peace came to him, followed by a distant thought in the back of his mind: Palatine swallowed hard. She was coming here!
A strange thought of giggling came to him that was then followed by,
The warmth of the Goddess’s presence was replaced by the warmth of Palatine’s embarrassment as he removed his hand from the tree. The sense of the evening chill crept in on him. He looked about the edge of the forest, feeling even more embarrassed that he was talking to a tree.
He made his way back over the field to return to his men. Thoughts of anger came to him again, but he didn’t know why. Was he angry at her for not saving his men, his soldiers? Was he angry at her for not replying to him on the battlefield? Was he angry at her for making him feel foolish?
He was acting like a child. He should not think these things. He was the army prefect and defender of the forest. It was his duty to follow the Goddess.
The sound of rushing wind interrupted Palatine’s self-admonishing as Vantaiga folded out of the forest along with the requested companions. Syffox appeared with eight of the children warriors, all dressed in leather armour and clothes of dark green, making them difficult to see in the fading light. Mackyntal and Drael were in lighter clothes of a durable nature that was splattered with mud. The two clerics appeared a similar young age from the magic they used to hide their archaic stature.
Vantaiga appeared in a short, fitted dress of multicoloured leaves, the green glow of her mantel lighting her face in the dim light. The sight of the Goddess filled Palatine with a rush of exhilaration and humility. He dropped to his knee and bowed his head.
Mackyntal rushed over to the soldier and lifted him up. “No need for all that, even when we’re not in the forest.”
Palatine looked up to him and nodded. “Thank you, Padre.” But he still did not feel comfortable standing and facing the Goddess directly.
Vantaiga approached him, leaning onto Syffox’s arm, the children silently trailing behind them. “Hello, Champion, I am sorry this came upon you. I am glad you are safe.”
Palatine’s previous anger, dread, and confusion were pushed aside and replaced with her divine regret. Why could he not remain angry at her? He had so much to say. “I am sorry, Goddess, but we lost several soldiers.”
Vantaiga’s already weak smile faded further. “I know… I felt it.” She flinched and paused before continuing, “I will restore them, and the rest of the wounded.”
Palatine nodded. “Thank you, Goddess.” He lowered his eyes, as he could not look at her sorrow any longer. But he still needed to talk to her. He needed answers from her. The holy ensemble passed by, and with her eyes finally no longer on him, he managed to find his voice. “They did not need to suffer.”
The group stopped and turned to the prefect. Vantaiga shuddered and looked at him. “Champion?”
Palatine struggled to draw in a breath. “I called to you, but you took too long to strike the enemy.”
Vantaiga’s sad smile twitched momentarily as she drew in a breath to find some soothing in the quiet chill air. “You were out on the battlefield. I am not on high anymore. I can only hear you when you are in the forest.” She looked over the dry, stony plain, the bodies of horses and men visible in the twilight. “It was the cries of the children that called to me. They are as much a part of the forest… a part of me, as the trees.”
Palatine choked back his growing emotion to her radiant sorrow. He was regretting bringing up the subject, but he still had a question to ask. As a soldier, and a man, he still had to ask why those under his command were allowed to die needlessly. “Why didn’t you strike sooner? Some could have been spared.”
Vantaiga’s jaw clenched, and her eyes shifted as she struggled for words. Syffox nudged her in an offer to speak for her, but she declined with a raise of her hand. “It was… difficult to send my power outside my domain.” She closed her eyes and began to tremble. Syffox placed his arm around her to comfort her. “You were behind. Had I used my children to strike immediately, I would have smote you as well. I didn’t want you to be harmed.”
Her answer angered Palatine further. She would let his men be ground under hooves for her feelings for him? “Are they not my soldiers? Are their lives not my responsibility? If someone is to die and be raised back, should it not be me?”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Anger and frustration drowned out Vantaiga’s sorrow. She is struggling to hold her domain together against the ravages of a hostile world, and yet here another man stands before her and bemoans how she does it? Does he question governors for making such decisions? A king? Or even Syffox?
Is he the one that will breathe life into their dead children? Is he the one that will wash away their wounds? No! She is!
She will restore them and they will walk away with little memory of what struck them down, but she will remember. She will remember their cold, grey bodies. She will remember their horrified screams. She will remember their limbs being rent apart long after he has turned to dust. Their pain is immortalised in head and will echo in memory forever. Why doesn’t he question
responsibility?
Thoughts and emotions crowded in Vantaiga and suffocated her voice. She hated these questions. She hated being a Goddess. She hated being immortal.
She turned to Syffox. She hated him. She hated what he turned her into. She hated having to decide who should live and who should die while cries of terror fill her ears.
If these things are so easy for men, then she should just lean forward, take Syffox’s power, and turn herself into a man. Palatine will be happy. The gods will be happy. Syffox will be happy.
She reached up her hand to grasp Syffox’s head through his wavy red hair. His eyes reflected green back at her in the dim glow of the mantel gem. She pulled his head down to her and kissed his forehead. She held him there while all her fears and anger swirled inside of her. A tear trickled down her cheek as she drew in a stuttered breath. Then... she released him.
She might hate him in this moment, but she will miss him forever. She wrapped her arms around Syffox in a relieving hug. “I am going to resurrect the children and heal any of our remaining injured. You men can talk war if you wish.” She stepped to Palatine, placing a hand on his shoulder. She closed her eyes with a blessing. “I am grateful that you are the forest’s Champion. Death has consequences, even after resurrection. The forest needs a Champion, not another wounded father.”
Guilt and adoration filled the soldier. “Thank you, Goddess.”
Vantaiga left the group and the chill of the evening returned to them all.
Syffox broke into the quiet with a disapproving look to Palatine. “She is not an experienced soldier. These choices are hard on her. I know it’s not easy for outsiders to follow a woman or even a Goddess. But she does what she can for the forest and its people.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The men found themselves in silence until Syffox jarred the awkward mood with a clap of his hands. “So, you have a job for us?”
The Champion cleared his throat. “Yes, my lord. We have prisoners. I do not know what your custom is with them.”
Baffled, Syffox looked to Mackyntal. “Well, we’ve never had to deal with prisoners before. Mackyntal, you are the head of the Order. What do you want to do with them?”
Mackyntal raised an eyebrow to his old master. “Thank you, Highness, for passing the responsibility to me. Let me look them over and see what can be done. Maybe they can become servants of the temples? We are raising rivers from the ground to make up for Hydar’s missing rains. I could always use more help.”
Syffox nodded. “Working for the forest sounds like a good way for them to redeem themselves.” He slapped Palatine’s shoulder. “It worked for our Champion here.”
Palatine only responded with a clenched smile.
Mackyntal looked over the collection of injured men. “It looks like some of them will owe us their lives as well if we want them to leave this place.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’d better get to work, otherwise we’ll need the Goddess’s services, and I don’t think she’s in a mood to restore this lot.”
Syffox looked to Vantaiga, who was hugging a warrior child she had just returned to life. “No, I don’t think she’ll be up for that. So, speaking of tasks, what is it you have for me and my ensemble, Champion?”
Palatine bowed to Mackyntal as he made his leave before replying to Syffox. “My lord, we should scout the army that these soldiers came from. This was a well-equipped and organised trap.”
Syffox sighed. “Yes, it seems we have moved on from settlers and adventurers.” He walked over to a pile of the enemy’s armour and weapons. He picked up what looked to be a small bow mounted on a club. “This enemy is from far beyond these lands. Do you know how long scouting them will take?”
Palatine hesitated. “It would take several days, my lord, but we need to know what is out there.”
Amused, Syffox shook his head. “All we need to know is right here.” He gestured with his hand for the officer to follow him. “Come. Let’s go scout out this army the wizardly way.”
Syffox led him next to the shelter wall where the prisoners had been gathered and where Mackyntal, Drael, and Palatine’s army clerics were tending. He waved his hand to Mackyntal. “Mac, is there a healthy one I could borrow for a while?”
The burly forest dweller scowled at Syffox. Syffox deflected it with an innocent smile. Mackyntal rolled his eyes with a sigh. He pointed to a bound soldier by the wall and ordered two of Palatine’s men to bring him to Syffox.
Syffox took the prisoner by the elbow and dismissed the two guards. He shot a quick glance to Vantaiga to see she was still busy attending to the fallen children and beasts. He gestured for Palatine to follow him and guided the bound soldier to the far side of the shelter. Once out of sight of the others, the soldier cursed out in a foreign tongue. Syffox squeezed the man behind his elbow, and the man sucked in his words through clenched teeth.
After a few magical incantations, Syffox spoke to the hostage. “No need to struggle, this will only take a minute.”
The soldier looked at him with surprise. “I can understand you—I can speak your language.”
Syffox nodded. “I thought it would be easier this way.”
“Are you going to torture me?”
Palatine cleared his throat at the man’s words. He was interested to hear Syffox’s answer as well. Syffox sat the man down against the far wall of the building. “No, no, but being probed can be, well, uncomfortable.” Kneeling next to the man, he spoke a few strange words accompanied by odd gestures and then placed his hand on their captive’s forehead.
The soldier’s memories and thoughts poured into Syffox with images of him, Palatine, and of clerics healing his comrades. Syffox needed deeper thoughts, and he pushed the recent memories aside. The man winced as he felt a disturbing pressure in his head as the memories were pulled from his grasp. Syffox delved further into his consciousness. There were thoughts of his recent battle, of charging down soldiers and small people on beasts.
Syffox frowned as he pushed even further. The man flinched to Syffox clawing through his mind, a sensation similar to fingernails grating on rocks in his brain. Syffox found thoughts of a camp, a station a day’s ride away.
There were men there. They were cutting wood and trees brought from the forest. They were making devices, strange machine-like towers and tall wooden structures to throw boulders and vessels of flaming pitch. There were many different types of them, different sizes, different materials, different shapes, but all looking sinister and deadly. Syffox was aghast. These were not machines to fight armies and kill men. These were machines to destroy a forest and kill a god.
Syffox controlled himself as he scrutinised the memories more closely. His bound captive gritted his teeth and tried to twist away. Syffox shoved his arm across the man’s throat and shoulders, forcing him back against the wooden boards. He needed more details of the camp. It was small, a few hundred workers and artisans. There was no army here or even the legions of labourers required to equip it. This base was for studying the wood and designing the war machines—but for whom?
Syffox reached further into the man’s mind, grinding deeper into his head. The man groaned and dug a heel into the ground as Syffox pulled up more distant memories of riding. They were long rides, back from the plains and into the rocky hills, five days’ riding from the small work camp. There, cresting a hill, a memory of a sea of tents, huts, and corrals opened before him. Armed and armoured men covered the hills as a black mass of hate and greed sought to take what treasures the forest was hiding. But there was something more, something the soldier had not seen.
The man whimpered as Syffox pried further into his mind; he had to know what the soldier knew. There were rumours, whispered fears, and secrets. There were gifts from the gods, horrible, terrible, gifts—demons and devils spawned to devour the forest and its people. Syffox let go of the man, and with a groan, the soldier slumped to the ground.
Syffox stood and looked over him sadly. “My apologies. That was deeper than I thought would be necessary.” The man’s only response was to mumble incoherently.
Palatine brushed Syffox aside angrily and examined the captive. “You said you weren’t going to torture him.”
“Technically, it’s not torture. He’ll be fine. He’s just going to be a bit scrambled for a while until his memories sort themselves back into place.”
Palatine growled at him as he struggled to lift the confused man to his feet. “Did you at least get the information you wanted?”
Syffox replied with a grim scowl, “Yes, and we have serious trouble headed our way. The gods have given these people more than just strange weapons.”
