graced his voice, “I choose where I go, what I do, who
I do,” he smirked.
“Why did you choose Marrion?” He was intrigued
with Harris. He was an enigma, a whisper of power,
yet still his name was on everyone’s lips throughout
Cammbour, he was famous in the shadows of war.
Harris stood with his glass in hand, he reached for
Brenin’s, but he still had plenty left. Walking towards
the cabinet he explained, “Because I knew you would
come.” He poured his drink and turned back to face
Brenin. His brows raised as he explained, “The
Atlanti have stronger forces than you give credit.” He
quickly walked towards him and lumped back into the
chair. “Battles are raging, and the kingdom is slow to
react, Sonnin and Cronnin blood is being spilt, yet
nothing is being done.” Harris gritted his teeth, he
leant back and tried to calm himself. He placed one
hand on the desk in front. “You need me.” It was a
rather arrogant statement, but it was a true one,
nonetheless. “I have asked for nothing, all I want is the
same as you, a peaceful world.”
Brenin sat back and raised his brow, a sense of
curiosity only grew as he looked towards him. A
shining champion of war. “What can I do, to help us
achieve this?”
“I’m a commander in the taverns, I don’t need the
title, but the wage would be nice,” replied Harris, his
ever-growing sense of pride seemed to fill the room.
Brenin could see past the pompous exterior of
Harris, his well-groomed appearance was a show of
confidence, every word he said carried some form of
pain. He could not hide from the attentive king.
“It would be my pleasure, to place you here, as
Commander to the red army,” announced Brenin. He
stood and walked closer to Harris, he towered over
him as he looked down towards him. “On one
condition.”
Harris nodded. “I’m sure we can compromise,” he
offered. He leant his arm on the chair and held his
chin.
Brenin leant on the desk. “End Marrion.” His
voice was soft and looming, “I have fought hard in the
arena of politics, a new title has been opened,” he
could see the excitement in Harris’s eyes, although he
was refusing to show it. “I am going against everything
my council have said, everything my advisers have told
me. When you’re through with Marrion, a title will be
given, High Chief Commander, I’m impressed with
your work, to live in the shadows, be known by many,
yet seen by none, takes some form of cunning.”
Brenin stood, he took his glass from the desk.
“Marrion is our stronghold, it’s a vital trading port with
the west, the monsters in the waters in Thrasia would
be glad to see our vessels diverted there.” Brenin
walked with his glass towards the drink’s cabinet.
“You’re no longer needed at war, once Marrion is
over.” With a raised brow he turned to face Harris,
who sat silent in his chair. “You will be vital,
everywhere, the only place where you can be
everywhere at once, is in the palace of Cronnin.”
Harris stood. His eyes were soft as he looked to
Brenin. “Now, my compromise,” he softly said.
Brenin nodded. “I don’t approve of the council’s
conduct throughout this war.” He searched Brenin’s
eyes for a response. “If I take the position, all matters
of war are to be left to me, only,” his brows raised.
Brenin could see the seriousness in Harris’s eyes,
he was a worthy commander, how he would fare as
High Chief Commander, answerable only to Brenin,
was yet to be seen. Brenin replied with a deep
grumbling voice, “Deal.”
Having finally met his new Commander, Brenin
made his way towards one of the larger rooms at the
end of the castle mezzanine.
The Kings Guard were quick to get everything
ready; they knew that Brenin did not want to stay long,
but they also knew he would demand to be in perfect
comfort while he was there.
At the top of the eastern ridge, a battle rang in the
would give. Long into the night the battle raged on.
The courtyard of the castle remained busy throughout
the night. Brenin could get no sleep. The chaos of war
was all he could smell around him. The putrid smell
of battle would put many off ever returning. Old
blood, ordure, sweat and filth seeped into the pores of
the skin, it clung to the heavy velvet curtain in his
room, and drifted in on the warm breeze.
Having had enough, Brenin left his room, to be
followed by his guard. Unlike the war camps he did
not mind, he knew many of the Atlanti would do all it
took to end his life.
The entrance to the master’s room was adorned
with fire flowers, tiny flowers lit the doorway. They
were an extravagance which was often only seen in
palaces and the homes of the fey, but clearly the
commander had an expensive taste. As Brenin
slammed the heavy wooden door open he was again
greeted by a call of passion.
A woman lay on Harris’s bed in the throes of
passion, her fingers were curled through his long locks
of black hair.
Brenin shouted as loud as he could, “Harris!”
Having seen a different woman, he knew that his
commander clearly had a problem.
The woman was horrified, she gave a loud scream,
quickly she turned and grabbed the silk sheets to cover
herself. Harris pulled his head up from pleasuring the
young woman. He still wore trousers. Wiping his
mouth, he gave a sigh.
“Apologies, Carrina.” His eyes rolled as he stood
from the bed. “You’ll have to be done for now,” he
clearly did not agree with the intrusion.
Harris stood from the bed. “A battle is raging,”
Brenin calmly began, he did not remain calm, as he
shouted, “And all you seem to care about is getting
your cock wet!”
Harris drew back, he raised his brows and gave a
heavy sigh. “In case you didn’t notice, my cock is
perfectly dry,” he seemed uncaring towards what was
happening upon the field of battle, “so this is what my
life is to become,” he sighed as he looked longingly
towards Carrina.
Brenin did not take the comment lightly, he
bellowed, “I don’t care what part of your anatomy you
plan to moisten! A battle is raging still, you are here,
you should be there!”
Harris calmly walked to the drink’s cabinet, he
poured two glasses of moonshine. Handing one to
Brenin. Brenin slammed his glass to the desk. Harris
gave a wide smile.
“Worry is all you seem to do,” he softly said, “I
don’t sit idle at war, I’m waiting,” his calm exterior
seemed to cool the fie
ry temper of Brenin, “come. I’ll
show you.” He quickly drank his moonshine; it was a
blast of bitterness which awakened him, burning his
stomach as it hit his gut. He threw on his black tunic.
Taking the breastplate and helmet of his lizard skin
armour, he placed his arm braces on, threw his
harness strap filled with daggers over his shoulders and
buckled his swords on. He quickly took his long black
cloak and made their way from the room.
Storming across the castle mezzanine the Kings
Guard quickly followed them to the courtyard. Stood
in the centre of the courtyard was a towering black
horse. The black stallion stood proud and still,
adorned with black lizard skin armour, waiting for his
orders. Brenin’s horse, Aridius, did not stand as tall,
or as impressive.
“On, Svend,” Harris calmly said to his horse.
Svend made his way through the courtyard and out to
the barbican, a slight trot was all the speed they
needed.
Escorting Brenin to the northern cliff, they
watched from the plateau as the carnage of battle
raged in front of them. The view from there was
perfect. A gigantic field was covered with the massacre
of war. A distant view of the ocean could be seen, the
moon’s reflection bounced in the calm waters. The
sound of ringing swords clattered towards them, calling
and shouting had turned to dim commotion. The air
was warm, and eerie. Several large fires burned in the
field, allowing light to keep the armies fighting.
“Keep watching,” Harris rested his arms on the
back of Svend’s neck. The commander seemed calm;
his arrogance seemed to fill the air.
Brenin waited. He wanted to see what the young
commander had planned, he had hoped to see a
brutal commander, but what he was about to see, was
barbaric. Lifting his arm Harris made a tight fist. From
the back of them the mighty blast of a horn echoed
down towards the battle. The Cronnin army began to
retreat, but that was not the call for retreat.
Again, Harris lifted his arm, his fingertips pointed
directly to the skies. As he slammed his arm down a
barrage of arrows came flying from the cliff to the right
of them, the black night skies covered the traces of the
arrows as they headed directly towards the battle
grounds.
He failed to impress Brenin who remained silent
beside him.
“The Castle Marrion isn’t just a castle,” explained
Harris. His voice carried mystery; a strong knowledge
was entrenched in his voice. “It was also used as a way
in.”
Brenin furrowed his brow, he shuffled his way
around on his horse towards Harris. “A way in? For
what?”
“Who,” Harris corrected him with his head held
high. “Marrion was a mining town, it all stopped when
the mines went too far, smugglers often use these
caves, the mines are perfect for them, the mines are
also perfect for something else.”
They dismounted their horses and walked to the
edge of the cliff. Brenin peered down, he could see
the brutality of his new commander. A rush of water
could be heard. Brenin looked towards the face of the
cliff, thousands of holes; all left behind by the old
mines, began to pour a golden liquid. Cascading
waterfalls fell from the cliff, smoke poured from the
holes, but it was not fire he was pouring, it was
something much worse, it flooded the battle ground
below, but as it reached the Atlanti on the ground
blood-curdling screams echoed towards them.
Brenin looked baffled as he saw them writhing in
agony on the ground, a strange smell of sharp burning
drifted up to meet them.
“What is happening?” asked Brenin, utterly
bewildered.
Harris stood calm. “The mabeara have helped
with this.” Brenin did not fully understand. “Vitriol oil,
masses upon masses, of vitriol.” His calm was
frightening, peering over the cliff, Harris stood back as
the dead smoke began to drift up on the light breeze,
the screaming was deafening on the ground, but on the
cliff, it was a distant whisper of agony. “They are the
miners of this world; they know where the blue crystals
grow.” Harris looked to Brenin who remained with a
turned down mouth of horror. Harris reached his
hand out, as he placed his hand near Brenin’s chest,
two guards stepped forward. Harris gave a piercing
looked towards them. “Step back, Sire, the smoke will
burn your eyes,” he softly said. The guards stepped
back.
Harris had proven he was willing to do anything to
win the war. “You’re playing a dangerous game,
Commander,” said Brenin, he turned back to his
horse. “A very dangerous game indeed.”
“I know, but if danger will win this, let the games
begin,” smirked Harris.
For the rest of the night the battle grounds
remained silent, the crows stayed away, even nature
would not touch that place. Brenin was horrified as he
saw both Atlanti and Cronnin caught in the mist of
piercing arrows and burning oil.
Arriving back at the castle Marrion, Harris
followed Brenin up the stone stairs, the mood in the
castle was sombre. Many had returned with burns, but
they did not look to Harris with contempt, they
looked to him with pride. Brenin thought it frightfully
odd that Harris received such a reception.
Stepping into Harris’s chambers, Brenin was silent.
A sickening churning was in his stomach, a mist of
sweat covered his brow. Harris made his way towards
the drink’s cabinet.
“You see,” said Harris with a hint of pride. “I don’t
sit idle, tomorrow, if the Atlanti call the horn, I will be
there,” he softly said.
Brenin walked towards Harris, he snatched the
decanter from him and poured himself a large drink.
“It must end,” he softly murmured.
Harris lifted his hand to stop Brenin from talking.
“A king must not engage in battle.” His voice was sure,
an intense feeling of certainty hit Harris. “One day,
you will lead these people, when they accept you are
their true king.”
Brenin was horrified as he shouted, “This is not
battle, this is barbaric!”
Harris flung his arm out. “And what they do isn’t?”
He took the decanter back. “You cannot get involved,
one day you will be the king of these people, it was
your commanders who did this, your army but never
your orders!” he shouted. He respected Brenin, but
he valued Brenin’s life more than his own. “We do
what we do to survive, to win.” Brenin could think of
nothing to say, he knew Harris was right. “You can
thank me when this is all over.” Brenin silently glared
into the room. Harris could see he was clearly
disturbed. Harris softly said, “it’s war they wanted, we
simply gave them that.”
Brenin relaxed his posture, his shoulders hunched
over. “How many must die, before we can just live?”
he was melancholy, he was missing the peaceful land
he knew.
Harris’s eyes widened. “All of us.” His voice
became soft as he went on, “we fight for freedom, but
freedom isn’t free, it’s paid for by the blood of our
children, and our children’s children, it is the most
expensive thing this world has.” Harris walked towards
the desk, he sat in his chair, slowly, Brenin followed.
“I came here to end this battle, knowing that there
were few others, since being here, another three
battles have begun; countless villages have been
ruined, and still the council believe all is well, we need
a miracle to end this.”
Brenin glared towards Harris, he seemed lost for
words, he was losing his own hope. “Perhaps, you are
what we need?” His voice was trembling, unsure.
Harris sat forward; he folded his arms onto the
desk in front. “I doubt it,” he softly replied, “however,
that’s another reason why I came here, it just shocks
me that I wasn’t sent for by the council, surely they
know about me, my ability?” he flicked his brow
towards Brenin and held a twisted smile.
Brenin laughed, “Your ability,” he gave a smirk as
he went on, “your ability to cause chaos isn’t favoured
by the council, it is favoured by me though, and that’s
all that matters now.” Brenin relaxed back into his
chair.
Harris’s smile grew, he was secretly looking
forward to a change of scenery. At only twenty-eight
years old, he had already seen enough war to fill a
lifetime. The suffering he had packed into his short
life could finally be left behind him.
“Everywhere I go, I bring chaos,” he warned.
Harris gave a menacing look from under his brow.
“Just make sure the council are ready.”
Brenin sat forward, Harris did not let his look go.
“The council of Cronnin will never be ready,” a smirk
grew, “I can honestly say, they will be sure to leave me
be, having a symbol of arrogance there every day.”
Harris barked, “Arrogance? I have earned my
arrogance, not only by ending the battles you know of,