Echoes of memory, p.41
Echoes of Memory, page 41
The General wasn’t sure why they had, but the looks that they gave Kestrel let him know the former street rat had played a large part in their decision.
Kestrel had become Wallace’s right-hand man and would often teach the recruits Memory Magic when Aris sent the elder man out on assignments to scour the city and read its mood. He knew it was a tinderbox and would ignite any day now, but the old man was doing wonders keeping the flames at bay. Wallace was a human firebreak.
Kestrel had helped the grizzled Memory Mage discover that their barracks housed five more Memory Mages. It was a staggering number for a gathering so small, but they took it as a blessing from the heavens, showing that their mission was ordained.
Two were Takers like Aris, Wallace, and Kestrel, but there was one Forgotten and two Givers. They were invaluable. Two more men among those injured during the small battle at the gates of the Ravenscroft Estate had also turned out to be Memory Mages. Both were Givers. Dispossessed and disheartened at what had been done to them, they readily joined Aris and his men and soon became some of the most dedicated of all his soldiers. They quickly found the sense of family and belonging that had been ripped from them during the fires that had devastated so much in their new lives as Guardsmen. In them, the Guardsmen found a new home. One that they would fight and die for. They wouldn’t let it be ripped from them as their houses and families had been in the fires.
“All I’ve heard is rumors,” Aris answered Kestrel’s question about Cillia. “But rumors are more than we’ve had in weeks, so I’ll take whatever we can get,” the blonde general said in his strange, strict, yet informal, voice.
Kestrel nodded to Joseph, one of the Givers whose magic had progressed at startlingly fast rates. The older recruit lifted his hand in salute and took over the session. They were learning to recognize the touch of magic. He drilled them over and over as Kestrel stepped aside and began chatting with General Ravenscroft.
“And what are those rumors?” though nearly a year had passed since he had moved onto Aris’ estate, it had done little to curb the straightforward manner of speaking that seemed to emanate from Kestrel’s core.
“Exactly what we suspected. She was taken by the Inquisitors.”
Kestrel’s heart fell at those words.
“But the good news is that they haven’t begun their tortures. They’re holding off for some reason,” Aris said.
A spark of hope lit in Kestrel’s eyes. “Where is she?”
Aris shrugged. He didn’t know. At least not yet, but he intended to find out and he told Kestrel as much. The brown-haired man nodded. His eyes were hard as he did so. Aris saw that Kestrel would mow down anyone who tried to stop him from rescuing the young girl.
Cillia had practically been a daughter to him when he was a street rat.
Aris would kill a whole army himself if they were to put his daughters in danger. So he recognized the fire in the young man.
He needed that strength. He needed that molten resolve.
“I’ll tell you when I know,” Aris said. “I promise.”
“Good,” Kestrel turned from his commander and strode back to the sparring grounds that were now being used to teach the members of the Ravenscroft estate Memory Magic.
Aris watched Kestrel immediately take over from where Joseph had left off. He had yet to realize it, but he had the makings of a great commander. Though he was younger than most of the recruits, they listened to him. They hung on every word that came out of his mouth and snapped into action with every order he gave.
He could easily make Captain if he so wished.
Aris caught himself wishing for that. His heart swelled with pride as he watched the former beggar now commanding a whole company of men and falling into the role so naturally, it seemed as if he’d been bred for it.
Aris would have to talk to Kestrel about it later. He had already talked to his captains and they had all agreed, Kestrel would fit perfectly with them. He was already one of them. He just didn’t know it yet.
The recruits were getting better day by day. Soon they would be more than just guardsmen and soldiers. Soon they would be, even those not touched by magic, trained to recognize and fight Edrian Woll’s force of Inquisitors commanded under the blessing of Emperor Evrain himself.
“Now ready yourselves!” Kestrel commanded his men. “If you can’t recognize the touch of magic when your attention is demanded elsewhere, your skills are useless. If you can’t use your skills in battle can you really call them skills?”
“No sir!” the guardsmen shouted in unison.
“Good. Now let's fight!”
Kestrel had the five Memory Mages and himself match and spar one on one with those without magic for five-minute rounds of hard sparring. He drilled the techniques so that they would be aware even when a battle took a long time, and three minutes was a long time to fight. Most fights lasted less than a minute. Sure battles lasted longer but a battle was nothing more than a sustained period of fighting multiple opponents.
He taught the normal guards to always keep mental walls up as they fought, to keep their minds focused on painful memories. If a Taker was able to snatch their memories in battles, they would be able to direct their retrieval so they were met with the most painful memories to discourage their touch.
Kestrel, in turn, taught the Takers to target specific memories. He taught them to engage in clinch fighting. To get in grappling range and when they touched, to target specific memories. To find memories of aching muscles, of a sprained muscle or a weak knee, and to target it as they fought. Soon Kestrel was seeing some men falling to the memory sniping of the Takers and some to the more developed of the non-mages who created traps, sharing the most overwhelming and agonizing of memories.
Sephira soon joined the fray, despite her mother’s objections, and was invaluable in teaching the non-mages how to deal with magic. Her skill was so good that she even bested Kestrel once in a bout and sent him reeling with a series of painful memories that engulfed him with her touch.
“You don’t have to be a Memory Mage to take advantage of the magic,” she told the guardsmen. “If you can master control of your own memories, you’ll be able to dictate what the Takers can see. You can do more than trap them in a maze of memories. You can attack them. You can overwhelm their senses with a wave of your own painful memories. Just because you don’t have magic doesn’t mean that you’re ineffective. It just means that you have to work harder and do a little more to fight back.”
Kestrel beamed with pride as he listened to her.
He had found out about Corrine being Sephira’s mother not long after that night on the mountain with Wallace.
Even now Kestrel could see the look of sadness, confusion, and anger in Sephira’s eyes when her eyes fell on Corrine. So much had been stolen from her. Kestrel had lost his mother and that had been torture, but still, he found it hard to imagine having her ripped from his memories, his whole past erased, only to be put together with her again as a stranger based on the cruel whims of a dictator.
Still, Sephira stood proud and strong. That news could have crushed her. It could have made her into a bitter shell of who she used to be, but instead, she had taken strength from it. She took the opportunity to dive into hatred and self-pity and instead turned it into motivation and a deeper relationship with her family.
She was truly a marvel.
When Kestrel thought he might break from the stress of training the recruits in magic and the constant state of not knowing when it came to what was happening to Cillia, he turned to Sephira. She was his pillar of strength. When he wanted to give up he would look up to her, standing tall despite the waves of the world threatening to pull her under with the tide.
Together they spent the rest of the afternoon training the guardsmen. They were quickly becoming more than just a peacekeeping force. They were morphing into an army. An army that could change the course of their country and save it from the Emperor who lusted for the destruction of their nation.
After they building their army they would find more recruits. Some had already heard the rumors and furtively joined the growing rebellion. They had heard of Edrian Wolls' betrayal and how he was behind the fires that had consumed so much of their city and had displaced thousands. They swore that they would make him pay for what he’d done to their families and their city.
They vowed to destroy those that sought their destruction and Kestrel and Sephira found themselves thrust into the frontlines of the changing of the epochs.
Chapter 64
“I HEAR WHISPERS OF rebellion,” Edrian Wolls said in his snake-like voice. “I hear that men are gathering and they are learning to fight and that you haven’t done anything to stop them,” he pointed an accusatory finger at Aris.
“And you’d be a fool to believe those rumors. You know where my loyalties lie. You know that I love Vealand more than my own life. I gladly gave up years of my life in its service and I will be a servant of the Empire until the day I die,” Aris said with conviction in his voice, and what he was saying was true. He loved Vealand and he would do anything to save its capital, Fiell.
No, he wasn’t lying at all when he replied to Edrian Wolls. He truly did love his nation and would do anything he could to protect it, even if that meant killing the Emperor. A man who had shown himself to be a monster intent on the destruction of the nation he ruled.
Aris would do anything to protect Fiell and he needed to curry political favor to do so. He had to find a trustworthy man to take control of Vealand when Emperor Evrain died, so he trod carefully and had constantly been making alliances over the last few weeks.
He traded every political favor he owed and played every game he knew how to play. Practically half the cabinet knew of Aris’ unrest, but all held silent. Their hatred of Edrian proved stronger than their jealousy of Aris. And if Aris’ game was played to completion, one of them could very easily end up in the vacant throne that none said there would be, but all knew was a very real possibility if Aris’ plans came true.
“You say you’re dedicated to Vealand, but just how dedicated are you? The rebels who tried to attack and kill our beloved emperor...” Edrian Wolls gestured to the sovereign to punctuate his oncoming accusation. “...Also believed that they were dedicated to Vealand. They wanted nothing more than to protect their country.”
Edrian’s words quietly shook the room. The Minister of Defense’s words were true. The Rebels, led by the now-dead Dren, had also been dedicated to Vealand. They had said that they were trying to restore the nation to its former greatness. A greatness that had been stolen from them by Emperor Evrain. For all they knew, Aris could become the next Dren, and more than a few thought he might follow in his brother Van’s footsteps.
Aris had lived under and subsequently driven himself out of his elder brother’s shadow, but blood ran deep. Something could have changed in Aris. He could be taking after his rebel of a brother.
But if he did rebel and succeed in that rebellion, currying his favor could bring great political power. It was a treacherous game to play, but they were all politicians. They made their livings by playing Kingsman with the populace as their pieces and by stabbing backs.
The biggest surprise was that it had taken Aris so long to join in on the games.
“Right now I’m busy trying to restore the town from the fires that your arsons started,” Aris said nonchalantly, subtly casting blame on the hawkish Minister of Defense, letting everyone in the cabinet know that he thought the fires were due to a dereliction of duty from the Minister. “I’m trying to bring our city back together. I’m trying to save it from blowing up, which is more than you’re doing. I’ve seen your troops. They don’t know how to keep the peace in the city. They think murdering our citizens is a valid way of quelling unrest. They’re only rekindling the ashes of the fires that burned down most of the riverfront district and displaced so many of our brothers and sisters.”
Aris had a distaste for political intrigue, but not because he wasn’t good at it. He had moved as deftly as any of the lifelong nobles and his words seared at the Minister of Defense.
Edrian glared at him. Aris was closer to the truth than he ever knew and it terrified him. He needed to deal with the man. He needed Aris dead. He needed him gone before he could raise the army that he had heard reports of but had yet to find.
Aris was the hinge of the door that could shut out every opportunity and destroy his chances for ultimate elevation. He had to do something about the General, and it needed to be done soon.
“That went poorly.” Aris thought as he walked the streets back to his estate. He wished he could be spending more time there, but to do so would be to put his family in the line of danger. They had already been dragged further into this mess than he’d ever wished, but only a fool would pull the drawstring further back when his family was in the sights of the archer.
He would take a brief rest at home before traveling to the estates of the other nobles. He was cashing in every political chip and was alternately playing on the pride or straight out blackmailing those who stood in opposition to his quest to reform their government. That reformation which he sold his rebellion as.
“How can I curry their favor? How do I succeed where my brother failed? I know that I can’t just discard the nobility or ignore them. For better or worse, they are the currents of power in our nation, and to destroy them would destroy the hierarchy of Vealand. We need them for this transition. But I can’t just throw the whole world of Memory Magic at them, even if I’m sure more than half of them have hired Mages at their disposal.” Aris thought.
“I...” His thoughts were interrupted by a wave of pain that drove him to his knees.
Memories of torture washed over him. He was having his fingernails torn off one by one. He was forced to stand for two days straight, forced into a cell barely bigger than himself whose edges were jagged and tore into him whenever his strength lagged.
“Inquisitors. He sent Inquisitors after me,” Aris scanned his surroundings as he fortified his mental walls as best he could against the painful onslaught.
There, in a small alleyway with building half burned by the fires, he spotted them. Edrian had sent five after him.
That pig was thorough.
He wanted to assure Aris’ death.
Aris focused his mind and ignored the pain. His years of seeing the worst the world had to offer worked as a shield. They couldn’t give him worse than he had already experienced. He was stronger than them. He was strong enough to fight despite the pain. Strong enough to compartmentalize it and use it as fuel for the fight.
Aris drew his metalvine and ran.
He surprised the group by driving straight into them. He swung his metalvine with animal ferocity at the head of the largest Inquisitor. The Inquisitor brought his forearm up to block the blow but it was too low, Aris’ blow drove through his guard and rebounded off the man’s head with a resounding crack, a splintering of bone, and a spray of blood.
He fell to the ground.
Dead most likely.
Aris used his rushing momentum and drove his shoulder into one of the smaller Inquisitors who had been positioned behind the larger man. He saw her memories even as his momentum slammed her into the wall behind her. She slammed into the ground. He pitied her as he saw the horrific abuse she’d been subjected to, but mercy meant death here.
He drove his foot into her temple. Her neck twisted sickeningly. He slammed his foot against her exposed carotid artery with furious strength. The snap let him know she wouldn’t be getting up again.
Ever.
Two down.
A metalvine slammed into the small of his back. His whole body erupted in pain and the blow drove him to his knees. Another blow came down on his shoulder numbing his arm.
Aris ignored the pain and pulled his knife out of its sheath and performed a kneeling Falis kata that spun him to face his opponent and drive the knife into the inside of his attacker’s thigh. He plunged the dagger two more times as the man rained another blow down on him, causing his vision to swim and his head to ache.
That had hit the man’s femoral artery. Another Inquisitor down.
Only two left.
Another wave of visions washed over Aris. This time hooked needles were being shoved under his fingernails then pulled upwards, tearing at the fingernails from the inside. He stifled an urge to vomit, the mental pain searing his brain.
“This is what he does. These men are victims of Evrain. He takes what’s good and corrupts it. He takes everything good and destroys it. I will kill him.” Aris thought as he dodged a blow from the kukri dagger.
The man reversed the blade quicker than Aris thought possible and in a second it was making an arc towards his neck. Aris instinctually raised his metalvine to his neck and the inwardly curved blade stopped just short of taking his jugular. The man twisted its trajectory. The tip of the blade dug into the side of Aris’ neck, drawing blood. Aris reached up with his free hand and snatched at the Inquisitor’s knife-wielding hand. He trapped it just long enough to create some space to send a harsh push kick to the man’s midsection, knocking him backward and allowing space for Aris to slip through.
Aris ran. The warrior part of him told him to stand and fight. To take down those monsters that had been sent to kill him, but the rational side of him told him it was better to live and fight another day than to die as a brave man when there was no need for it.
He’d barely gotten ten strides away when a dagger tore into the meat in the back of his thigh.
“Okay, stay and fight it is.” He thought. “But I will make them fight on my terms.”
He tore the blade from his thigh and squared up. There were two more attackers. These two were more skilled than the others and had quickly picked up on Aris’ strategy after he’d killed the first two of their companions. They pulled up short. They weren’t going to rush him and meet their deaths as their comrades had. They would bleed him to death through a million paper cuts if that’s what it took to kill him.
