The Essence Wars--An Envious God, page 59
A net whistled through the air. Vorruk snarled as it tangled around him, dragging him down, his powerful limbs thrashing against the cords.
‘Kaedryn!’ Maerwyn shouted.
He was already outnumbered, the shieldbearers advancing fast.
The first crashed into him, then another, forcing him back.
The trap had already sprung.
Soldiers encircled them in a tightening ring, cutting off their every escape. Vorruk tore through the first net with a tremendous rip, lunging forward, but before he could reach them, the shield fell.
A shimmering haze locked around them, solidifying like glass, a translucent dome of pure Essence.
Maerwyn turned sharply, her sword still in hand, but she could feel it instantly.
It was useless.
Braegor snarled, prowling in a tight circle. Vorruk swiped at the barrier, his claws scraping uselessly against the unseen force.
Kaedryn had been forced into the clearing beside them, his breath heaving, his hands clenched at his sides.
From the trees, they came.
Nine soldiers stood at their perimeter, watching. Waiting. Laughing.
Then, from the shadowed archway of the fort, two figures emerged. One clad in red, his cape flowing over leather armor, his presence sharp, calculating. The other was darker, silent, and moved with the slow certainty of someone who expected the world to part before him.
They were caught.
Maerwyn’s fingers curled tighter around her useless sword.
Their captors had known they would come.
They had been expected.
And now, there was nowhere left to run.
‘Maerwyn. Welcome.’
The man in the red cape circled the shimmering shield, his tone almost casual, like an old friend greeting long-expected guests.
‘Grantchu.’ He nodded with faint approval. ‘Fine young man you are.’ His boots crunched lightly over the dirt as he continued forward, unhurried. ‘And Kaedryn, well done. You brought them here safely. That is splendid indeed.’
He smiled.
‘Welcome to Gor.’
Maerwyn stood firm. ‘Who are you?’
Kaedryn blew out a tense breath, brushing himself off and sheathing his sword. The fight was over before it had begun.
The man in the red cape just laughed.
‘All in time, Maerwyn,’ he said smoothly. ‘But first, put away your weapons. No one else need to die today. We are all friends here. You killing my men... well, that wasn’t very convivial, now, was it?’
She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
She could feel the others watching her, waiting.
Grantchu, with a reluctant sigh, sheathed his sword first. Then, with a slight nudge, he urged her to do the same. Braegor and Vorruk whined lowly, their hackles still raised.
The man grinned again, but there was a sharpness to it.
‘Very valiant, Grantchu.’ He nodded in approval. ‘I knew you would be difficult, Maerwyn Sawngfli. I knew all about you. You could have taken all my men by yourself, couldn’t you? But you felt for your companions.’ His head tilted slightly. ‘They underestimate you, you know. I certainly wouldn’t.’
His voice softened.
‘Now, I need you to calm down. I will give you time to think, in the cells, until you do.’
Maerwyn’s grip tightened on her sword, then finally she exhaled and sheathed it. The man sighed, almost theatrically.
‘You see? That wasn’t so hard.’
He gestured behind him.
‘Thobys—drop the shield.’
The Essence barrier flickered, then dissipated, the air feeling heavier as it vanished. Maerwyn immediately stepped forward, but the red-caped man raised a hand.
‘Not yet,’ he warned. ‘You are not prisoners. But I can’t have you hurting more of my men. You will each be free to go, once you’ve learned why you came here.’
He smiled again, the kind of smile that hid something deeper beneath it.
‘My name is Fyan Thrirlessian. And this, my friends, is my outpost at Essidelven’s Peak.’
His gaze slid to Grantchu, studying him for a long, uncomfortable moment.
‘Tell me... where is your cat?’
Grantchu’s jaw tightened.
‘Leave her,’ he growled as men began to strip him of his weapons, unfastening Maerwyn’s and Kaedryn’s gear as well.
Fyan didn’t even turn as he gave the order.
‘Find the cat.’
Cyre was already watching.
Hidden. Tail flicking. Eyes glinting.
She saw everything.
And she was waiting.
CHAPTER 36 – The Doctrine of Thrirlessia
They were led through the narrow stone corridors, a sodden tapestry of moss, sweat, and rusted iron clinging to the air. The cell they were forced into was crude but unbreakable, thick-walled, cold, and without windows. The door was heavy masonry, reinforced with metal braces. Vorruk had tested it more than once, his bulk straining against the unyielding slab, but even his strength was met with futility.
They weren’t being threatened, not yet. But they weren’t free, either.
A few candles had been left for them, their flickering light barely pushing back the deep shadows of the room.
‘This is crazy.’ Kaedryn broke the silence, pacing. ‘Who is he? Has anyone heard of him before?’
They exchanged glances.
Nothing.
‘All I know,’ Grantchu muttered, ‘is that he knows us. He’s studied us. And we know nothing about him.’
Maerwyn spoke through gritted teeth. ‘We know he keeps Tripolists here.’
‘And not just Easterners,’ Grantchu added darkly. ‘I swear I saw Westerners among them. You can tell. The way they stand, the way they move. They weren’t like you two.’
Maerwyn didn’t respond.
Time had become meaningless. The damp, the cold, the isolation folded in on itself. Minutes blurred into hours. They couldn’t tell.
When the door finally groaned open, they blinked against the torchlight.
‘Step back from the entrance,’ a guard barked.
Trays of food were shoved inside, not just scraps, but a meal fit for soldiers rather than prisoners. Then, without further explanation, the same guard fixed his gaze on Maerwyn.
‘Come with us.’
The morning light was muted through the fortress windows, diffused by the lingering clouds that clung to the island like a shroud. Maerwyn was led through the stone corridors, her boots echoing lightly against the uneven floors.
The dining hall was not a grand chamber, nor was it a battlefield. It was something in between.
At one end of a broad stone table, a plate of roast pheasant and spiced greens had been prepared. A single goblet of wine sat near the plate. Fyan Thrirlessian sat at the head, eating. He dabbed at his mouth with a cloth square of linen, wiping away the grease and juices of the roasted bird.
‘Go on, Maerwyn. Eat.’
His voice was smooth, patient. He didn’t look up. He carved another bite of pheasant and chewed slowly.
‘I am. I’m not stopping for you. This pheasant is delightful you’ll find.’
Maerwyn hesitated, then sat.
The food was rich, fragrant. Too generous for a prisoner, too deliberate for a gesture of peace.
She picked at the edge of the plate, tearing off a small piece of meat, chewing without expression.
Fyan chuckled.
‘Oh, come now, you can eat more than that.’ He gestured at her plate with his fork. ‘I told you, you’re not my captive. I only needed to make sure you didn’t kill more of my men. You’ve only been here one night, Maerwyn. That’s all.’
She said nothing.
Let him talk. Let him show his hand.
He didn’t press her. Instead, he continued eating, watching her through calm, observant eyes.
At the edge of the room, her weapons sat on a side table, arranged neatly. Five Soulpiercers beside her quiver, her sword, Grantchu’s blade, and Kaedryn’s weapons, all laid out in perfect order.
She was planning her moves in her head, but Fyan was watching her.
He wiped his hands on the linen cloth, then crumpled it and set it aside. He stood and crossed the room to the table where her weapons had been laid out. His gaze lingered on her and then the weapons before he strode toward them, fingers trailing lightly over the hilt of her sword. Then, with the ease of a scholar studying a relic, he plucked one of the Soulpiercers from the pile.
He turned it slowly, running a thumb over the flawless, midnight-black tip.
‘Exquisite,’ he murmured.
The word hung in the air.
Fyan rolled the shaft between his fingers, feeling the weight, the balance.
Then, suddenly, he laughed.
‘Absolutely exquisite!’
He returned to the table, the Soulpiercer still in his grasp, rolling it slowly between his fingers as if it were an idle trinket rather than a weapon that had taken lives.
‘Such a metal,’ he mused, his tone almost wistful. ‘Wars have been fought over it. Treaties forged in its shadow. Syllanian, born of fire and blood. You know its history, don’t you, Maerwyn?’
She said nothing.
Let him talk. Let him revel in his theatrics.
She tore another bite from her meal, chewing slowly, her gaze unwavering. She wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of a response.
Fyan smiled, as if her silence amused him.
‘The Eastern Union owes its birth to this metal.’ He gestured lightly with the Soulpiercer, admiring its edge. ‘Union Pass, the Age of the Accord... it was all built on need, not unity. Do you really think King Hart knew what he was giving up when he let go of the Herastium Fields?’
Maerwyn held her tongue, but the strain showed in her eyes.
‘Elanwyn had no army strong enough to defend the Fields alone,’ Fyan continued, unfazed. ‘So when the Eastern Union was formed, Hart made his choice. He gave up his land’s greatest treasure in exchange for a seat at the table.’ His lips curled slightly. ‘But he failed to grasp what he had given away.’
Fyan spun the Soulpiercer idly between his fingers, his expression distant, reflective.
‘The moment Union troops crossed into Elanwyn, Hart was finished. Domen would have burned if he resisted. The Kingdom would have been swallowed whole. So he chose survival.’ A pause. ‘And maybe he was right. Maybe he saved his people. But in doing so, he gave up dominion over the most valuable resource in the world. The Gainfolds secured the Fields. Fone’s armies ensured the West would never reach them. And that little mushroom, Herastium, its exuded resin, Plocetol, the silent lifeblood of war, became the foundation of an empire.’
His fingers traced the Soulpiercer’s shaft, reverent. ‘And so, here we are. Nearly eight decades of peace. A few skirmishes, yes. You would know about those, wouldn’t you? But the true war has always been in the shadows. Control the Plocetol, and you control Syllanian. Control Syllanian, and you control war itself.’
He lifted the Soulpiercer, examining the flawless black tip. Maerwyn’s mind turned to how quickly she could leap up, rip the Soulpiercer from his hands and stab through his jugular. She would have no trouble watching him bleed out on the floor choking on his own blood.
‘Stormer Theers was a brilliant man,’ he said, the edge of a chuckle in his voice.
The words hit Maerwyn like a blade to the chest. She had held herself in check for too long, and now the pressure cracked. Her hands slammed against the table. The room seemed to shake beneath her fury.
‘Enough!’ Her voice cracked like a whip. ‘What do you want?’
Fyan merely snorted, his amusement barely concealed.
‘I am sorry about Stormer,’ he said smoothly. ‘He was a good man, Maerwyn. He didn’t deserve what the Chancellor did to him.’
Maerwyn’s pulse thrummed in her ears. Her knuckles whitened with each tightening clench. This was it. The moment she could end it, right here and now. All her weapons were within reach. Adrenaline surged through her. Her pupils widened. Her head tilted ever so slightly.
Fyan saw it. All of it. And he knew exactly what he had just done.
He raised a single hand, slow, tempered. A calming gesture. A leash on the fury he had provoked.
‘Maerwyn, I had nothing to do with that.’ His voice softened, just enough to sound sincere. ‘I... don’t particularly appreciate the Chancellor, but we need him.’ A tilt of his head. A measured pause. ‘You need him.’
Her breath hitched.
He had pulled her into his game, and he knew it.
She had always known the Chancellor was behind something. But how deep did it go? How many of these tangled threads led back to him?
‘Now, Maerwyn, we have a lot to discuss. I can’t have you leaving this room without knowing exactly why you are here. Why I brought you here.’
‘You didn’t bring me here.’ Her voice was sharp, unyielding.
Fyan exhaled through his nose, amused. ‘Do you think that Thalryssi just sailed itself into the Gainfold’s navy? That you got here by luck? You had help, whether you realized it or not.’
She stiffened.
‘That night,’ he continued, ‘when you rowed across Essidel’s Veil in my rowboat, might I add, with your comrades, we were already watching. If we hadn’t been, you’d have been swallowed whole by the galley on your tail. We’ve taken several navy vessels now, East and West.’ He leaned forward slightly, studying her reaction. ‘You like my Thalryssi?’
Maerwyn’s jaw clenched.
He was toying with her. Enjoying it.
‘I stole it from the West the night we took the fort.’
Her breath caught.
The world lurched.
She shot up from her chair. Before she could move, hands seized her from behind. A crushing weight pressed into her, stealing the strength from her limbs, draining her. The rush of Essence within her vanished.
She gasped, slumping back into her seat.
‘Meet Farrine.’ Fyan gestured casually to the man restraining her. ‘He’s a Hollower. Drains power like a sieve. Don’t worry, it returns in a few minutes. But for now? You’re just as human as the rest of the world.’
Maerwyn’s head swam. She clenched her fists against the helplessness sinking into her bones.
Fyan sighed, almost as if he pitied her. ‘I need you calm, Maerwyn. That’s all. Yes, I took the fort. But only after the West did.’
She fought against the fog dulling her senses, struggling to regain focus. ‘You killed ours too. Verdathisians. Lirionethians...’
‘That was... unfortunate.’ His expression shifted. Genuine regret or another well-rehearsed performance?
‘I’m telling you this because you need to know everything. The full story. We would have taken the fort anyway. The West? The West? Well, they were an inconvenience. They were also an opportunity.’
Fyan’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a secret.
‘A perfect chance to test our new weapons.’
Her mind flashed back to the explosion at Garette Fort. The twisted bodies of her comrades, the men from Aliztar and Jonika, slain where they stood, where they slept, where they ate. Gone in an instant, as if they had never existed.
Fyan watched her carefully, his tone almost sympathetic. Almost.
He sighed, shifting back in his chair as though this were a casual conversation, as though he weren’t justifying mass murder. ‘Let me explain how we did it. Because it only took two hundred and fifty men. Two hundred and fifty. That’s all. We stormed Marran’s Farm, the fort, the fields. And then we returned to Jonika, free.’
A cold tension crawled beneath her skin. Her throat tightened, but she didn’t speak. She could feel his voice taking hold, pressing into her chest like a weight she hadn’t braced for.
Farrine lingered behind her, his waist only inches from the back of her neck. She could feel the heat of his presence, the tension in the air as his hand hovered near her shoulder, waiting to strike. Fyan’s glance flicked toward him, a silent command, a reminder that Maerwyn Sawngfli was not easily tamed. Be ready.
She clenched her fists beneath the table, willing herself to stay still. To stay in control.
Fyan leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘Don’t worry. Your parents, Yosi, everyone is safe. I have my best men and women there. Ion is there. He’s with Yosi. And she’s... well, let’s just say she’s loving that he’s returned.’
Maerwyn’s skin crawled.
‘You have a new mayor in town now,’ Fyan continued. ‘He’s called The Reaper. I think you’d like him. And Sheriff Edrik Fenthos? He’s comfortable enough. Jonika is safe and protected.’
She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.
‘Verdathisa is separating from the Union,’ Fyan went on, his voice smooth, practiced. ‘And that is to Jonika’s advantage. You don’t need me to tell you that. Verdathisa is the breadbasket of the East. Do you think the High Steward will risk war when his grain stores start running dry? No. He’ll hesitate. He’ll wait. And by then, it will be too late.’
Maerwyn’s grip on the chair tightened.
‘With The Reaper in Jonika, I can tell you with absolute certainty, there is not an army in Teloshka that could take that city down. Let the West keep their fort. They’re surrounded. The Gainfolds have them boxed in. And even if they broke free, they would never, never stand a chance against what we have built in Jonika now.’
Fyan sat back, watching her, letting his words sink in.
‘But I need you, Maerwyn. We all do. Jonika. Verdathisa. Lirioneth. Elanwyn. They all need you.’
Her mouth felt dry.
‘My parents...’ she forced the words out. ‘They’re safe?’
‘Yes. Absolutely. Totally safe.’
A pause.
‘Yes... mostly, they will be safe.’
Her stomach turned.
Fyan smoothed a hand through his dark hair, eyes fixed on nothing. ‘The High Steward isn’t acting yet. For now, he still believes Jonika is Jonika. But when the grain stops flowing? When his reserves dwindle? That’s when he’ll make his move. And that’s when we will be ready.’
