The Shedding of a Past(Closed to Smuggles the Bear)

[Zack, Son of Tyranny]

"You know, Erik..." A younger man said. "Father isn't going to approve of this" He stepped forward, bright blonde hair flowing gracefully over his beautiful green eyes. He stood in a purple and yellow tunic that actually looked more like a primitive business suit. He casually brushed the hair out of his eyes with his left hand.

"I don't care, Alex. It's going to work." Erik replied. He was much taller than his brother. His hair was black as night, straight as an arrow. It matched his concentrated demeanor perfectly. He stood above a large wooden table with a map sprawled out across it. There were purple bars of pewter on choke points, such as bridges, forts and of course, the barony. He rested one hand on the table and the other rubbed his chin. "It has to."

Alex simply laughed. "You always say that." He walked over, pointing out 3 blue bars of pewter set up like a trapezoid, the other base being a purple bar of pewter labeled 'Annor's Troop’. "They're drawing you into a trap. If I were you I'd just cross Annie off the map."

"I'm not leaving her to die, Alex. I'm the Commandant, not you." Erik shot back, a fiery passion burning in his eyes.

"Why?" Alex mocked his older brother "Do you love her?"

Trying hard to maintain his focus, Erik simply snarled. "No, I do not love her. Well, I do. But like a sister. And if she was our sister, you..."

"But she isn't, Erik. She isn't. She's just another shmuck." Alex saw the effect his words had on his brother. "She's just a girl. A silly girl... peasant."

Erik was across the room in an instant. The tendons in his neck pressed out, and his right hand was around his sibling's throat. "She is not a peasant. She has been judged."

"Yeah... By you."

"But judged nonetheless. She is one of the best lieutenants we have. You know it. I know it. Father knows it. Listen to me, I have 5 troops ready to move, and 3 coming. If I send... 3” He let his brother go, walking thoughtfully back to the table. He slid three purple bars over. "And flank them from this angle.

"You'll lose one troop at least." Alex said. "You're being foolish, brother."

"But I'll save Annor, and we need her. She's got a military mind like none I've ever seen."

"Perhaps she'll be Third Commandant someday. Instead of you." Alex mocked once more.

"She'll make a better Commandant than I. I have to do it. Send a courier to father and to Annor.”

[Zack, Son of Tyranny]

Two nights had passed. Two sleepless, restless nights. It was dawn of the third day, and his courier had returned from contacting Annor the night before. He had told her to fall back 2 miles and await Erik’s reinforcements. The courier sent to the barony had not returned, however. Erik was not worried, it was a day and a half ride each way.

Erik stood outside his tent in the bitter cold of Salvaran morning. The wind blew directly in his face, and made his eyes tear. He knew Alex was right. This was foolish and he would get hell for it, but he had to save her.

‘She’s too valuable a Lieutenant to waste.’ He assured himself. He had always thought very highly of Annor, and actually respected her enough to use her name. His father simply called her Anne, and Alex, whom had grown a distaste for her, called her Annie. She hated it.

He ran his long fingers through his raven hair. He honestly didn’t know if the attack would work. There were rumors of revolting militias taking up arms between his current position and Annor’s, but they were only rumors. But if they are true, he thought, they would ruin everything. My troops would be ambushed and destroyed before I even got to her.

He noticed a shadow moving on the horizon. He squinted his eyes against the rising sun, and noticed it to be a courier. His flag bore the spear that was Annor’s emblem. Zack’s breath quickened and his eyes darted. He ran to the gate and opened it manually, as many of the guards were in posts. The courier was wounded badly.

“Commandant!!” The courier called from outside the wall. “Commandant!!”

“What is it?”

“Our unit…sir...was ambushed.”

“And Annor?”

“I do not know, sir…”

“Men!” Erik exclaimed.

“Sir?” A guard replied.

“Ready the forces, we’re marching out.”

“But sir, the courier from Jac…”

“Ready the forces!!”

[Zack, Son of Tyranny]

The men were readied within the hour. A dark silence had fallen upon the troops. Erik had his horse, Shey, saddled almost instantly. He donned his breastplate and grabbed his standard issue long sword. He rode Shey to the gate, staring blankly eastward.

“She’s alive. I know it.” He said to himself. Unfortunately, there was another listener.

“How do you know, brother? Do you feel it in your heart?” Alex laughed, his brightly polished battle armor gleaming off of the morning sun.

“Trust me, Alex.” Erik stated monotonously. “I’m using your Calvary troop as the spear-head.”

“No you aren’t”

Alex and Erik stared at each other for a long time. Erik’s stern and serious look was mirrored by Alex’s childish grin. Eventually Alex laughed and slapped his older brother on the shoulder.

“My troop isn’t going” Alex said with a rather snoody air.

“What the hell do you mean?” Erik shouted, his body filling with rage. His eyes darted across his younger brother’s face, trying to decipher Alex’s mocking smile.

“I mean my troop is staying here. They follow me, not you, brother.” The last syllable was too sarcastic. Erik’s face contorted as he said it, and Zack responded with a gaping jaw.

“Brother or not…” He said, commanding a bit of authority “I’m still Commandant, lieutenant.”

“Third…Commandant, brother.” Same sarcasm, same contortion.

“Very well. Play your games, Lieutenant Jacobson.” Erik dropped the friendly and brotherly tone he had adopted earlier. “I will report you to Second Commandant Rhoads. He can decide what to do.” Erik began to ride back to camp to oversee the final ins and outs of preparation.

“Why, brother? Are you to afraid to deal with me yourself?” Alex challenged him. Taunted him. He rode alongside Erik, although his older brother averted his gaze. “Aren’t you going to teach me a lesson? No? Not going to make an example of me for the other lieutenants? I thought not. And you expect to be Supreme Commandant someday by not waiting for approval, and by letting your officers run…”

Alex opened his eyes and he was on the flat of his back. His horse stood beside him, and he had a pain in his jaw. He sat up and saw his older brother riding a few yards ahead, and… laughing?

[Zack, Son of Tyranny]

Hooves thundered across the scrub grass. Erik rode in the front, his deep indigo cloak flapping in the wind. He had brought 4 units, leaving his stubborn little brother Alex’s unit behind. Two were Calvary, one was infantry and one was a ranged unit. Erik decided that he would use his horsemen to charge in create a distraction and create plenty of time for his infantry and archers to arrive. He hoped.

They had left about ten that morning, and it was rapidly approaching eleven o’clock. The battle site was getting closer, and Erik encountered a group of fourteen infantrymen. They were tending to one who had an arrow in his leg.

One stood abruptly. “Commandant! You came!”

Erik dismounted his horse. ‘Of course I came, where are the rest of your unit?” He straightened the gauntlet on his left hand and looked at the grimacing man on the ground. For being Third Commandant, he sure hated warfare. He knew that man. Where had he seen him? In the market not three days prior, he was buying tomatoes. He had one son on his shoulders and another by the hand.

Erik opened his mouth with a blank stare on his face. He looked around and saw three other troops lying on the ground. Dead. Did they have families too? Did they have little boys that would never ride on their shoulders? Never hold their hands. It was almost too much for him, Commandant or not. He slowly began to kneel down, his eyes becoming hot with fury and sorrow and pain and suffering and guilt and…

“Commandant?” the trooper questioned. Reality snapped back to Erik. All the sounds of the men, the smell of blood and the whimpers of the man from the market were suddenly assaulting him. “Commandant, did you hear me?”

“No, soldier. I’m sorry… I was just.” Erik stuttered for a moment. He coughed before continuing, “So, where is your troop?”

A puzzled face struck itself on the trooper’s face. “I had said, sir. I had said we got separated from the main block. We fell back this way, took a helluva lotta’ casualties. And since last night we’ve been tending to Tyler. He’s not looking good. Our Clerics are with the main block, so we’re just trying to keep him awake.

“You stay here. You are doing very well with Tyler.”

[Zack, Son of Tyranny]

***
Alex remained at the outpost. He sat in his tent, chewing on a grape and cursing his older brother. His angry eyes darted about the room. That was always the one thing noticed about Alex. To say his eyes we magical would be a great injustice. They were green in certain light and blue in the sunset. Azure swirled into olive, with small brown specks decorating the outer rim of his iris. His eyes truly were beautiful. They were not the expressive; however dull brown, eyes of his older brother. They were tainted with a distrust that one couldn’t quite put his finger on.

So he sat. His deceitful darting eyes flickering about. The courier sent to his father walked into the tent, a worried look on his eyes. “Lieutenant.”

“What?!” Alex demanded. A small bit of grape and some juice spat from his mouth as he turned.

“Second Commandant Ortusk is here. He wishes to see Erik.” The courier said. His voice was full of despair. He knew Erik wasn’t here, which left his little bratty brother in charge. Things were going to get bad.

Alex strode outside; bearing a stature that would signify him as Supreme Commandant if one didn’t know. He approached Ortusk. “Second Commandant Ortusk” He saluted. Ortusk returned his salute and Alex continued, “What brings you out here?”

Ortusk was a gargantuan among men, to say the least. He heralded from the barbarian tribes conquered ages ago by Jacob’s great grandfather. Ortusk was tall, at least seven feet in height, a size matched only in his girth. He easily weighed 400 lbs and was shaped like a bull. He was ruthless in battle, and his name was as feared, if not more than Jacob’s. Feared so much he was designated an aptly chosen nickname, The Man-Slayer of Rythe.

“Vwair is jore brozzeh?” A deep voice billowed from behind a faceplate. Ortusk’s armor was as notorious as he was. A thick steel grate like something from a Knight’s helmet rose up to cover his face and nose, and thick shoulder pads towered at least a foot above his massive skull. He was a walking tank. “I zhould very much… like to zpeak to heem.”