Into the Deep Wood

Iros straightened but did not stand back.

“Greetings, Valeria.” He smiled at her but shot Ivan a quick look as if to check on him.

The Witch nervously played with her fingers. She stared, her eyes open in surprise and mouth only slightly parted, at a loss for words.

He hated it, but Ivan's heart ached for her. She looked so scared of the inevitable confrontation. He imagined this moment so many times, at least before he knew, and in his mind, she would run to him, and he would wrap her in his arms and take in the smell of her hair. Familiar… welcome…

Then, after he found out, he wanted her to grovel. To apologize. To feel the crushing guilt within her soul so heavy that it hurt as much as he did.

Now, he wanted none of those things.

During the entirety of the travel from the coast to Barzah, he thought of her. But, it was not truly that he thought of her. He thought of the fog she walked in when they were in the Glade. The hurt with which she cried when she told him her story by the fire. How broken her heart had been when she spoke of who he now knew to be the Ember Sword. He remembered the journal entry written in the man’s disappointing handwriting.

Should you find this and I did not wake up, just know that the night had meant everything. You mean everything, and I would have gone thrice if it meant freeing you.

She was where she had always wanted to be. It was not her fault that he thought for a moment in time that she would want to be with him instead.

“Ivan…” she began but seemed to lose her words.

“Perhaps I should say my ‘hellos’ to the Ember Sword…” Iros muttered, nodding to her and then walking past. She allowed it, her eyes still on Ivan.

“Ivan–” she tried again, but he shook his head and smiled at her. It had been genuine, but his eyes did not reflect it.

“Valeria, you do not need to say anything. Please.”

“I am so sorry.” She swallowed hard, her face twisted in worry and regret. “I should have sent word, at least.”

“Let the past remain there. I understand. I did not at first, but I understand now.” He assured her. The Witch looked as if she was going to burst into tears. He wanted so badly to hug her, but those days had come and gone. He could be a friend… but not yet. Not now.

Still, she ran forward and wrapped her arms around him. He felt her tears soaking his shirt where she had pressed her face against his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry, Ivan…” She sobbed. He allowed his arms to fall around her, but it was light, without the emotion that he so badly wanted to express.

“I hold nothing against you.” He said before his voice broke, gently guiding her body away from his. The sensation reminded him too much of the times that had passed. “And, in any case, I was asked here by the Ember Sword. I am happy to serve my country. And right now that means that he is my general. Please understand.”

She blinked at him, and somehow, her face fell even more.

“I need to go to the Western Wound.”

The words seemed to catch Marat by surprise. He’d barely been awake, and this had come after an especially hard day - and a much-needed night.

“Val, what?”

“I need to go to the Western Wound.” She repeated. “I think that I can close it. The way that I had closed the one here.”

“Other priorities, Val.” He sighed.

He hadn’t seen much rest in the passing weeks. The King had disappeared from the face of the earth, and Asim had been unfriendly and hardly helpful - aside from providing the labor of his men. Marat could only thank the gods that Iros had returned and he had someone at his side that he could trust.

It seemed that Batyr had pulled him from Aziza and sent one of his men instead. The news of the serpent and the abandoned ship spread. As did the story behind how the ship had been set ablaze.

The scoutmaster had truly proven himself. Marat had been greatly surprised when he, too, had arrived in Barzah. He did not think that Batyr would let him leave the coast after what had gone on.

“Marat, you do not understand. I think that I can trap it. I can make a trap out of the threads of the Wound - and I can catch the Legho in it.” She rattled off the words for fear that he would shoot her down again before she could.

He’d been so stubborn, so cranky in the past days. And when he was like that, there was little she could do to get through to him.

“That is a lot to weigh against ‘I think’.” He muttered, pulling a shirt on. “You want me to waste resources so you can go back to the burned cities? Val, just stay here. We will figure out what to do about the Legho.”

She let out a steady, frustrated breath.

“It will come again, and it will destroy Barzah too.” She said. “And no amount of men will help us as they fall on their own swords. Let me do something, anything I can.”

“Just like you went to Nashtuun to do everything you could.” His words were cold, and they had hit their intended mark. “We saw how that turned out.”

She remained quiet, her teeth grinding so hard that she was afraid to say anything else for fear that she would scream. She saw his shoulders slump slightly.

“I’m sorry.” He was not looking at her. “It has been a difficult few weeks. They’re dying out there of heatstroke, and disease spreads among them. Val, I cannot let you go. I need you here. If for nothing else, just so I can keep going.”

“This is bigger than us. Was it not you who said that?”

“I need you safe, Val.” His eyes met hers. She saw how tired he was, how beat down by the weight of his responsibility.

She kissed him on the cheek but said nothing else.

The cards were dealt.

“Oh I do love me s-ome King-s Duel.” Yaro beamed as he examined his hand. He moved a card from left to right and his eyes scanned the table beyond where the other men drew theirs.

“Are you going to sit here and tell me that what you just had was better than my queens?” Iros scratched his head.

He’d never played until about an hour prior, and this game had been confusing, but he was also fairly sure he was being lied to about the rules.

“Queens do not fight; they supplement the kings,” Ivan explained. “And, as you held none, you have come out a few coins less than you went in.”

“Los-er take-s a drink.” Yaro announced. “To less-en the pain of los-ing.”

“If you want a drink, Yaro, just take one.” Ivan grinned. “Game.”

He laid down his cards, and Yaro’s face visibly reddened.

“You cheat, pathfinder.” He shook his head.

“It is my job to look for signs of enemy activity.” Ivan laughed.

“Are you sure queens do not fight?”

“Drink, Iro-s.” The red-bearded man poured a small crystal glass of Sylvan and slid it toward the High Templar.

“It isn’t even noon…” He fingered it, unsure, but tipped it back anyway. “Does no one feel guilty that the Ember Sword is out there in the heat while we are in here drinking?”

“He’-s a s-tick in the mud. We have a half hour until the King want-s to meet with u-s,” Yaro began dealing another round. “S-o you be-st get ni-ce and plas-tered now.”

“The King wants to meet with ‘some’ of us,” Ivan observed. “I don’t recall an invitation for you, Yaro.”

“Jus-t becaus-e it-s not formal, does-n’t mean it-s not there.”

The men each examined their cards.

“Has anyone seen Valeria today?” Iros asked, sneaking a glance at the other men’s faces in an effort to figure out if he was going to be another coin down and another glass up.

“Acting s-trange lately,” Yaro observed, his eyes darting from under his bushy eyebrows. “Keep-s as-king about the wes-t.”

Ivan had suddenly grown quiet and did not look at the other men; the expression on his face was absent, his eyes fixed on his cards.

“Gods,” Iros muttered. “Game. Two kings and a queen.”

“For fuck-s s-ake.” Yaro dropped his cards. “Why do I keep playing thi-s s-tupid game.”

It was not long until the three joined the Ember Sword outside the war room. As he came close, his nostrils flared, and he looked at them with suspicion. He did not get the chance to comment as General Asim had opened the doors and motioned them inside.

The room was darker than usual, although it had been midday. There were two men that they had not been familiar with and the King who was already seated. They had not seen him since Nashtuun, his communications coming mainly through Asim, but none were prepared for how he had looked.

His complexion was sallow, his shoulders slumped, and his cheeks hollowed from weight lost. His hands, once looking like plump sausages, rested loosely on the table.

“General.” He said, nodding to Iros, then turned his eyes to Marat, “Lord Commander.”

“Your Majesty.” Iros bowed, and the rest of the men followed suit.

Although Batyr had not seemed to notice, Asim’s eyes followed Yaro quizically, but before he could say anything, Batyr spoke.

“It has been weeks since we have lost Nashtuun.” His voice was raspy, and it was difficult to bear for anyone who had heard it booming in his prime. “And so, we are going to make adjustments. For the sake of Sudraj, for the sake of the people.”

Iros and the Ember Sword exchanged quick, worried glances.

“Morale is not good. There is talk of the West taking over the White Cities, bringing their men here in droves.” He continued. “And I am taking control back from Typhonos. These are my lands. And so they will remain.”

Iros’ back straightened just a little, but otherwise, there was little sign of surprise. The Ember Sword’s whole body tensed, and Ivan glanced at them, uneasy.

“You are guests here, and you will be still. But I have pulled my men back from the fronts and brought my generals here to take over. My men march to Aziza as we speak. And Asim will take over the armies stationed here.”

Yaro looked around the room, gauging the graveness of the words. Even Asim was strained.

“We will fortify Barzah. We will make a stand here. And we will focus our efforts here. We do not need a foreign commander to lead us north. Not a Westerner.” Batyr finished.

No one spoke. No one dared to. It seemed like Iros was trying to think up the words but to argue now would have been fruitless. It was the Ember Sword that spoke first.

“King Typhonos has set conditions for the use of his men, ships, and resources.” He said, the implication hanging in the air.

“If I must send each man back by ship, each pound of wheat, I will make sure that you are seated atop it all as well.” Batyr shot him down. “I will no longer bend a knee to a foreign power. We can be allies, but I will not be overtaken from within - it is not only the Northern forces that threaten the South.”

When they came out an hour later, each man wore a different look on his face. Iros and the Ember Sword were talking in hushed, hissing tones. Yaro was frowning and keeping his thoughts to himself. Ivan’s face was blank, eyes glued to the floor before each step.

“S-o what now?”

The four stopped once they were far enough from the war room that there had not been any chance of being overheard.

“We stay here and out of sight of the King so that Typhonos’ men among the ranks don’t desert,” Iros said grimly.

“Westerners.” The Ember Sword fumed, his words strained against his teeth.

“You knew who Batyr was when we came. It was only a matter of time until he felt his manhood had been slammed in the doorway too much.” Iros said. “You didn’t even want to be here in the first place.”

The Ember Sword said nothing, seemingly wrapped up in his temper.

To his side, Ivan watched him with yet another strange look on his face. This was not lost on Yaro, whose eyes narrowed. Tension rose among them. The Ember Sword was the first to turn and walk away, having still said nothing. Iros sighed, looking after him.

“How things have changed.” He muttered. “I suppose I should go busy myself. There will be a lot of that from here on out.”

“I better go as well.” Ivan looked to the two and nodded, heading in the opposite direction of the man who had just left.

“Another game?” Yaro looked Iros up and down, as if trying to figure out how much money had been left in the neatly pressed kaftan.

“You must come with a family fortune, old man.” Iros motioned toward the hallway. “I’m not drinking for every hand lost.”

Ivan strolled down the halls, anxiety hurrying his step. He stopped and threw his head back, trying to steady his breathing, then walked on, keeping his head low and eyes on the ground. As he rounded the corner, someone waited in the empty hallway beyond.

“Ready to go?”