The bodies of a ten-thousand soldiers littered the once pristine meadow. The men and women of more than five nations lie dead or dying atop the trampled grass. The rumble of horse hooves sounded in the distance, as the calvary of the victorious army chased down and captured or slew the stragglers of the defeated one. Yet, while the battle had ended, two men at the very center of the blood-soaked battlefield were about to end something greater, they were about to end a war.
On his feet stood the young general, in the prime of his life and the height of his career. His armor had been battered and his handsome face dirtied, yet here he stood noble and proud in victory. On his back lie the dying emperor, aged beyond his years from war and heartbreak. His left arm was severed at the elbow and his stomach pierced by steel, but still he clung to life as he gazed up into the eyes of his vanquisher. Over twenty years of near-constant conflict had brought these two here, to this defining moment in the history of their kingdoms, and their lives.
“So… it is done…” spoke the emperor, his voice weak and bitter, “The world has once again taken everything from me.”
The general did not respond, rather he allowed his defeated opponent the chance to speak what he willed in these last, fleeting moments of his life.
“My wife, my children, my friends…” the emperor wheezed, before gazing across the battlefield, which was littered with the youth of his country and those of his allies, “My empire…”
His gaze shifted to his own arm, still strapped into the gauntlet he had fashioned for himself so many years ago. It had seen many additions and decoration since those days, yet its function had remained ever the same, but it had not been enough. None of it had ever been enough.
“My nation’s honor…” he continued, his eyes remaining fixed on the gauntlet for a moment longer, before finally turning back upward toward the general, “...and now my life.”
“It didn’t have to be this way, emperor.” the general finally responded, “All this destruction could have been avoided had you only sought peace instead of war. But as you said, it is over now.”
He looked upon the defeated emperor with pity, almost pained to see the man he had campaigned against for almost three years reduced to such a state. A dozen Cerulean generals had lost their careers, and sometimes their lives, in their efforts to stop the Veridian conquests. Only Kyrus had managed to finally turn the tide of the war, though he would be first to admit that if not for the lessons learned from his failed predecessors, even he could not have accomplished it. An enemy such as this was one worthy of respect.
“It’s not too late, Tarek. Even now, God can forgive your transgressions and you will be welcomed into his eternal realm. I can summon my confessor to administer the cleansing ritual, should you be willing.” the general offered, hoping that perhaps the “Heathen Emperor” could be saved in his final moments.
But that was not to be.
“Ha! Eh-heh, heh.” the emperor sputtered with a pained smile, “If there… if there is one thing this world cannot take from me… it is… my conviction.”
Blood began to roll over his lip as he coughed and laughed, his head settling back into the dirt and his eyes looking up to the midday sky.
“I will never… bow… to a false god…”
Inhaling sharply, the emperor made one last garpled moan, before his last breath slowly finally left his chest. No further sound was made from the one named Tarek Izabran, for the emperor was dead.
“So be it.” the general sighed, bowing his head and leaning on his sword slightly in exhaustion.
There he stood for several minutes, alone among the bodies, silently uttering prayers of gratitude for his deliverance from the fate so many others had suffered. Once a royal knight sworn to the crown, he had always lived to serve God, King and Country, and he would gladly give his life for those things. Still, he was far happier to have avoided it.
“Kyrus!” a familiar voice finally cut through the silence, accompanied by the clanking sound of heavy armor.
The general looked up, seeing the face of a man he’d known since his earliest days, donning a bloodstained, but far less battered suit of armor similar to the one that he wore. The new arrival was a welcome sight amidst this vision of desolation.
“Dimitrius.” Kyrus smiled weakly, turning and embracing the man, “It is good to see you, brother.”
“It seems my army and I arrived in time to pull your arse from the fire yet again.” Dimitrius laughed, before retracting from his brother’s arms and turning to observe the lifeless emperor at their feet, “So, that bastard is finally dead, is he? It is a glorious day, indeed.”
Kyrus did not respond, instead he stiffly bent-over and plucked the severed arm from the mud, promptly unstrapping the gauntlet from the dismembered limb. Dimitirus’s eyes widened in awe, as there were few men left in Acrylia who did not know about Tarek’s gauntlet and the Shards of Losh.
“The Shards are ours now! With these weapons at our disposal, retaking Veridia, properly this time, will be effortless! And after that, we can finally seize control of the coastal states!” Dimitrius grinned, “The king will grant us lordship for this, if not even more!”
But Kyrus shook his head somberly, not daring to place the gauntlet upon his own hand.
“These are powers not meant for mankind, little brother.” he rebuked his sibling, “The gauntlet shall be turned over to the Church; they will know what to do with it.”
He turned to leave, but Dimitrius grabbed him and held him where he stood.
“You and I did this together, Kyrus. Together. You may have been the one to inflict the final blow, but remember it was I who cut his legs out from under him! I bore all the dishonor so that could remain pure in your beliefs. This is not a decision you can make without me.”
“It was never my decision to make.” Kyrus retorted, “I have orders from the Inquisition to turn the Shards over to the Patriarch himself. Or would you have me defy a direct order from the Church?”
Dimitrius bit back an angry response, but quickly thought better of it. After a moment of contemplation, he reluctantly nodded in submission.
“You are right. Forgive me, brother.” he said in a more subdued tone, though he managed to force a smile after a moment, “I’m sure we’ll still be granted lordship.”
“And I’m sure you’d make a fine lord. Hell, the king might even make you a governor.” Kyrus chuckled, before looking away, “As for me though, I have little interest in politics. As soon as I deliver this gauntlet to the Patriarch, I’m going home…”
Dimitrius could tell by the distant look on his brother’s face that the man was sorely missing his home and family. Though the younger brother did not mind the campaigns himself, the elder was a far different story.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen them?” Dimitrius asked.
“Over two years…” Kyrus looked off into the distance, “Two years too long. I’ve missed so much…”
The general chuckled slightly, certain things coming mind as he dwelt on time he’d been away.
“I gave Lydianna a wooden sword last time I saw them. According the latest letter I received, she hasn’t put it down since. Ha! Isabelle is beside herself! Her daughter wants to be too much like daddy.”
Dimitrius laughed heartily at that.
“How old is she now?”
“She just turned five a couple months ago.” Kyrus shook his head, mood turning somber again, “As I said, I’ve missed too much. I won’t miss the next one.”
Holding the gauntlet up in his hand, the Cerulean general closed his eyes and imagined he was home, his wife in his arms and daughter on his lap. They were so far away, yet the knowledge that his time away from them was ending soon helped to sooth his spirits. All he had to do with deliver this blasphemous artifact and he’d be free.
“Can I trust you to handle things here?” he opened his eyes and looked up at Dimitrius.
“Of course.” Dimitrius put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Say hello to the womenfolk for me.”
“I shall.”
Kyrus embraced his brother once again, before pulling away and trudging across the gore-soaked battlefield back to the distant warcamp. He would gather a group of horsemen to ride with him, then he’d immediately depart for northernmost pass through the barrier mountains and into Cerulea. The war was over, so there was no longer a need for the kingdom’s greatest general. No longer would he be Royal General Kyrus of Cerulea, instead he would be Sir Kyrus of Leers once more. But most importantly, he would once more be the father and husband he had been unable to be during these years of war. Finally he was going home.
Or, so he thought…
