Chương 420: 13.6

Evren stared at the letter before him, at the words written starkly and clearly, with all the flourishes of the finest of scribes, the embellishments of gold leaf and expensive inks, upon a vellum that he could smell was from a lamb barely old enough to have been slain for such a thing. It was not the kind of letter that belonged on a dusty road through the hills of the Vanaand.

It was not the kind of letter that a Shephard's son should be having presented to him after spending half a year aiding in the cutting down of captains, encampments, officers and generals who dared to enter his homeland. The messenger who bore it had arrived under a flag of truce, a day after the sudden withdrawal of Magarska's armies from the front. It had been a welcome surprise to see the enemy in retreat, but the people of the Vanaand had celebrated fitfully.

No one knew if this was merely another one of Murad's ruses. All thought it was a drawing back of his forces in preparation of an even harsher, more terrible offensive. He had done it before, in wars before Evren was born. The Shepherd wyrm had read the treatises that he, the captains and the officers had written of that fighting deeper into the south of the Apotamidua vault.

Still, for the days after an uneasy levity entered into people's lives, sons returned home to tend their flocks, fathers took days to spend with their wives and families, and what food could be spared was brought to villages for small celebrations. Even the men who had joined the fight after being freed from their avowed labor in the mines found respite, and if word was to be believed, even many wives! Fighting Magarska and newfound freedom from the heaven's shackles forged a brotherhood between all the men.

But then the messenger convoy had come, a full party of Magarskan soldiers, two officers and a Captain, status known by the quality of their steel and dress. They came into the Vanaand under flags of truce beside that of Terminapolis and Magarska, headed along the main road to Kars. The headmen of the many bands that had been fighting all summer had wanted to ambush them but those that had once served as soldiers and captains warned against it.

Evren could smell and hear the eagerness for blood hidden in the hard scrub along the trail, but it was agreed that the one that could speak for them was their 'Shepherd Wyrm'. So it was asked that Evren meet the party, it was small enough that they posed no risk to him even if he had actually been on his own, not even with Wyrmspears (which they very openly did not have) would a dozen men be a risk to him. With the Vanaandi hiding in wait if things became violent, there would be no contest.

He was no feral beast that could be baited into his doom like the hunters had trained Magarska to fight. He met them, and as soon as they came upon him on the road a man in armor that shined far too brightly for the long dusty journey he had ridden dismounted in a single fluid motion, walked up to Evren with terror in his sweat but duty on his face and a starsent leash around his neck and presented a scroll as long as his forearm.

Speaking no words, but kneeling to Evren with velum presented and unfurled, terrified. Which left Evren in that moment, reading those words, feeling the rising urge to recoil, burn the offending document into nothing, turn and flee back to his parent's hills and never set foot in another city. But did he dare do that? If he did that all of these men would die, and worse what would it mean for all the uneasy bands celebrating what many believed would only be a brief respite of freedom before the army returned?

If he denied those words." To the last reigning Prince of Magarska, by right of conquest in war and wisdom in dominion, the Council of Lords in Terminapolis and in accordance with the loyalist cities of all the realm from the Dacian vault to upper Apotamidua.

Do we hereby recognize High King Evren, first of his name and dutifully await his arrival for his public coronation to claim sovereignty over the titles revoked from Murad the false and wretched by the true king's allied Wyrm and Lady in Victory The Shining Doom of Cantor Reborn, Blood Mother of Vampires, Night Scale slaughter and Breaker of Heavens. To be attended to at his most royal highness' soonest convenience." Evren the Shepherd Wyrm stared for long minutes at those horrible words.

All the men before him were silent, they barely breathed, forced to wait, to do as commanded, to present to him the very leash that was like knives in their hearts, choking around their necks. In their hiding places, the ambushers breathed evenly, ready, but blood was starting to calm, when he had mustered the control to still his initial shock, the tension had eased in his allies. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. It was for the best.

The only reason some of these poor men were not pissing themselves is that they dared not, their vows running up and down their backs as if the stars behind the sky were waiting for the chance to cut them for the trespass. Still, did the horror of Magarska see no end? He knew there were evil men, no one had forced the avowed soldiers in Kars to treat women that way, He'd seen plenty of brutality from the bands upon soldiers that were barely grown men broken and fleeing for lack of their captains and officers.

He'd seen things come out of the mines which had no right to be called men, whether furred or naked skinned, snouted or stub faced. Some of those that had been offered freedom from their slavery had deserved a death that Evren then swiftly gave them. But to see these words that could only make sense to an avowed man broken by his divine chains? He saw the ink, written by men so desperate for a new master that they rushed to find one to latch their throats to again.

Evren closed his eyes and took a breath, shook himself out, relaxed the tension that wanted to splay his ears back once more, he fought to keep a snarl from his lips, to lower the way his fur wanted to raise into hackles. He wished that Fizzbunches was here, his little advisor would know the best words to say in this moment, but with the war afoot, the Wizard refused to leave Evren's family unguarded, claiming to never again let them risk harm from stupidity of Evren's… Or their own.

He wanted someone else to speak the words, to find the path, but there was no one. The men hiding under brambles and behind rocks had chosen him to speak for them. There was only Evren the Shepherd, and had he not already found the answer to this in Kars already? Had he not done the right thing when he joined the bands at the mines countless times? Had word not found its way to Terminapolis even after most of a year had passed?

Did the slaves of Murad, bereft of a holder of their chains, simply feel too much desperation to be imprisoned to a new will they would ignore that he refused the title of Prince? Or was it worse than that? If Jewel had finally met and fought Murad the first and 'properly' slayed the monster at last in whatever bloody waste of lives and men she sought out? He should be dead, Evren could not imagine even the Countess letting him live, not after what had happened. Then were they forced by their vows?

Was the chains of Magarska that insidious? Did it need to have a master so badly? Like the avowed slaves in the mines who would dig at the stone with the bones of their fingers until they bled out if you denied them tools? Or worse still was the unimaginable true and had Jewel with her indecipherable 'nobility' found some horrible contortion of sense to spare yet again the son-butcher Murad? Were they just a few machinations of that monster away from a resurgence of all that was wrong?

And even if Murad was fully dead how could he destroy this terrible thing that seemed poised to reform even with its head severed from its body? Evren took another breath, he would not make the same mistakes as before. He would not again delay and leave Magarska's slaves chained in the dark like he had with the Mines of the Vanaand. He would not again leave minor lords to continue to call on the Heavens' vows in the very land that looked to him to protect them.

If he had to break every man, woman and child free himself Evren would do it. His parent's words were clear in his wind, a buffeting breeze bringing him certainty.' Let no one put a leash on you' Did not every man deserve that?

"I accept this missive from the Lords of Terminopolis. As my first order as High King of Magarska I command you, come, accompany me to Kars, I will gather a-an entourage for my 'court' and then we will make our way to the Capital. We will send a Messenger to the next town of my acceptance." Like children's toys they leapt into motion against their will and even their throats were not wholly their own as they called out as one slave.

"Magarska Prevails!" The relief was at least honest, with his acceptance they no longer expected to die. Evren focused on the future even as he saw the way that the collars of the heavens pulled the men into action. A quick whistle that started in his throat and then flew past his lips gave the sign, the Ambushers could disperse once they were out of sight. There was no danger here, he had this in hand, he would lead them on their way and keep the Magarskans from harming the people of the Vanaand.

Evren would not do this alone this time, he needed Fizzbunches at his side, his family secure and the wisdom of older men than he. The monster that enslaved these men had to fall, but as he'd seen here in the Vanaand, there was only one place that such a blow could be mortal. And the blow had to be sure, not a clumsy thing as he had in Kars. Nor how he had completely failed in the Capital. Evren wouldn't miss the monster's heart this time.

With his eyes open and allies at his call, he would succeed, and at last, Magarska would not prevail.