Devil of the Thorn Garden

Eberhart der Ehrenwerte raised his right arm, allowing the servant to place the aetherplate gauntlet over his hand. The servant pressed a hidden button and the gauntlet sealed against the vambrace. Eberhart moved his arm closer to his face, examining the seal, wriggling his fingers. The micro-servos hissed and whined as he tested his dexterity.

He could hear his council bickering in a hushed tone behind him.

"Gentlemen, I am still here. Or have you forgotten that?"

The bickering quieted. A thin man responded, "Sir, this is absolute madness. You cannot deal with savages with politics and petitions like Duunarchs."

"Ghurazi are no different than a Duun Lord; they have their customs and we have ours. I'm sure they can be civilized."

The thin man wrinkled his nose at the sound of the word, Ghurazi, and he spoke again, "This idea is in direct conflict with Voivode Vladren's decrees."

Eberhart snorted, perhaps a stiff laugh, "Although he may be the Lord of Orunhold Varkesh, we answer to a higher power, Solomir the Unifier."

A fat man now spoke, "Sir, Solomir has not been seen in ages. Perhaps millennia. We answer to Vladren, Prince of Thorns."

Eberhart did laugh, "Prince of Thorns. You are trying to induce me to fear. He is nothing more than a boy. His brutality is bestowed upon rapists and murderers. I do what I do for the betterment of my people. If the Ghurazi can see the error of their ways and assimilate, then Vladren can be reasoned with."

He turned to his servant, "Fetch mine helm Erik. It is time."

Erik retrieved the helm from the Lord's armory and slid it over Eberhart's head. Once again the servos whined as the aetherplate sealed shut. A brief moment of silence occurred in Eberhart's chambers until the hiss of a rebreather exhausted the carbon dioxide inside of his suit. Eberhart's voice came from within the armor, distorted and amplified by the sonarch within his helm.

"Today is a day of peace my friends. The Ghurazi will accept our terms and millions shall live."

That day was a day of peace, no blood was shed and millions did live. For a time, until hundreds began to die. Then soon thousands were dead.

For three months the peace held. Ghurazi merchants began appearing in Eberhart's markets. Their children learned the names of local bakers. Herds crossed old battlefields without escort. Men who had once watched the horizon with spears in hand returned to their plows.

Then a rider came with no destrii. He collapsed at the foot of the duunhold gate, his boots were slick with mud and blood. Twenty miles east, the village Hollen burned.

The death toll attracted Vladren Tepessar, The Thorn Prince, King of the Black March, and the Devil of the Thorn Garden.

Eberhart sat in his dining hall, his wife, Anna beside him. Both were silent. Any other day he and Anna would have enjoyed their dinner of quail eggs, boar, potatoes, and endless wine with hearty laughter and drunkenness. However, tonight the souls of thousands weighed heavily upon them as well as the eyes of Vladren's own Corvii, or The Black Messengers.

The Corvii ate their fill and upon their arrival only spoke one sentence, "The Voivode has left Varkesh."

"He is a sensible man, Eberhart. He can be reasoned with," said Anna as she fluffed her pillow.

Eberhart puffed on his pipe near the window. His upper lip stiffened as he spoke, "He is a child."

Anna's body stiffened and she made a shushing motion with her finger. "Do not say that with the Corvii in our home."

"I say only the truth. What does he know? Has he seen his people die by the millions to the Ghurazi? My father and his father have been waging war, trading territory for centuries against the horde. Do the Ghurazi not have traders, merchants, guilds, and warriors just as we do? I believed if I gave them a place to rest their head, the raids would have stopped. Our people could be at peace."

Anna lowered her eyes, "I do not disagree. I think if the Corvii are in our home, then we mustn't talk freely."

Eberhart puffed on his pipe again in contemplation. His first thought was to summon his lords and ride into the reaches of his Duun and collect the head of every Ghurazi resting their head in his territory. It would be what the Voivode would want.

He quickly shook the fear from his head and reminded himself, it is better to do nothing sometimes. And that is what he did.

Within a fortnight came The Black March and its King.

"Where is the king?" Eberhart asked.

He was mounted to his destrii. The noctisium engine hummed, burning a cold white light.

The thin man sighed, "He left Varkesh two days ago, he was last seen on the eastern road."

"He shall be on Kesli soon." stated Eberhart.

"Yes sire, then to the Draconii Fjord."

Upon those words, Eberhart turned to the Corvii. They seemed to be out of earshot but he knew they could hear. Their feathered black armor seemed to vibrate like an eardrum as the sounds reached them.

"You are welcome to speak," Eberhart called to them.

After a moment of silence, they cocked their raven helms toward Eberhart and cawed, "The Voivode has left Varkesh."

"Blessed be Solomir," Eberhart sighed under his breath placing three fingers to his brow.

Three days later Eberhart stood over the campaign table in his solar. Small iron markers dotted a relief map of the Black March and the surrounding Duunholds. Varkesh sat to the north, its marker crowned with the Sign of the Eternal Thorn. Kesli lay several days south.

Eberhart moved Vladren's marker himself.

“Kesli,” he muttered.

The thin man stood across from him with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes, sire.”

“How long?”

“Two days, perhaps three.”

Eberhart looked toward the window. Rain struck the flameglass panes in thin sheets.

“You said three days yesterday.”

“They are moving faster than expected.”

Eberhart's jaw tightened.

Behind them, one of the Corvii sat against the stone wall sharpening a narrow blade. The rasp of metal against whetstone filled the silence between each sentence.

Eberhart turned toward him.

“How many men does he bring?”

The Corvii continued sharpening.

“I asked you a question.”

The blade stopped.

The raven helm slowly turned toward Eberhart.

“The Voivode has left Varkesh.”

Eberhart struck the edge of the table with his palm.

“Yes. I am painfully aware of that.”

The Corvii returned to his blade.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Eberhart looked again at Kesli.

“What happened there?”

The thin man hesitated.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“The gates were opened before the Black March arrived.”

Eberhart looked up.

“No battle?”

“None.”

“No siege?”

“No, sire.”

Somehow that troubled him more.

He reached across the map and moved Vladren's marker south.

That night Eberhart woke before the bells.

He stared into the darkness of his bedchamber, listening.

Nothing.

Anna slept beside him.

He closed his eyes.

A moment later he opened them again.

“Anna.”

She stirred beneath the blankets.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think he has crossed the fjord?”

Anna opened her eyes.

“Eberhart.”

“It is a simple question.”

“It is the third time you have asked me tonight.”

Eberhart rolled onto his back.

“I have responsibilities.”

“You have fear.”

He turned his head toward her.

“I do not fear that boy.”

Anna stared at him for several seconds before pulling the blankets around herself.

“Then sleep.”

Eberhart said nothing.

He remained awake until sunrise.

By morning Vladren had crossed the Draconii Fjord.

By evening two neighboring lords had sent their families west.

The following day three Ghurazi settlements within Eberhart's lands were abandoned. Cooking fires still smoldered when his riders arrived. Livestock wandered between empty homes. Doors stood open. Meals sat untouched upon tables.

No decree had been issued.

No army had yet entered Eberhart's territory.

Still, everyone seemed to know what was coming.

Everyone, Eberhart told himself, except those determined to frighten themselves.

He checked the map again.

Vladren's marker stood less than a day's ride away.

“Move it back,” Eberhart said.

The thin man blinked.

“Sire?”

“Your estimate is wrong.”

“The outriders confirmed his position.”

Eberhart stared at the small iron thorn.

“Then confirm it again.”

The thin man bowed and departed.

Eberhart remained alone with the map.

After several minutes he reached out and moved the marker himself.

Half an inch north.

It looked better there.

Behind him came the faint metallic vibration of Corvii armor.

Eberhart did not turn around.

“Not one word.”

Silence.

For once, the Black Messengers obeyed.

The following morning the bells rang before dawn.

Eberhart was already awake.

Heavy footsteps approached his chamber. Before the servant could announce himself, the doors opened and the two Corvii entered.

Their black feathered armor vibrated together.

Their voices came as one.

"The Voivode has arrived," cawed the Corvii. The court became silent.

Eberhart sat on his duunthron. It was uncomfortable, his armored bulk made it hard to sit still but for the sake of his position, he remained still and staring down the subjects of his court.

The two Corvii flanked him as he sat. His mind could not decide if he were being protected or held hostage in his own duunhold. The discomfort of the seat began to occupy his mind. He shifted; aetherplate clanked and servos whined. The Corvii stared at him, their red eye slits seeming to focus and analyze. After what seemed to be an eternity, they returned their attention to the entrance of the court.

The large doors opened, and a man appeared. He was not a large man, but his presence filled the court. His face seemed chiseled from marble. Long blonde hair fell beneath a crown bearing the trinitii orthodoxia. Smooth black aetherplate, lined with gold at every seam, covered him. His scarlet cloak trailed behind him, marked with the Sign of the Eternal Thorn.

Eberhart stood in honor of his liege and bowed. Vladren stopped short of the stone steps leading to the throne. He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Eberhart spoke. "Have you come to tell me I was wrong?"

"No. They have." Vladren raised his right arm and motioned for his closest Corvii to hand him a scroll. He let it fall to the floor. Signum Spinae Aeternii was printed on the side facing Eberhart.

He began reading names, ages, and occupations. The list seemed endless. Eberhart and his court remained motionless. About halfway through the list, Vladren raised his gaze to Eberhart.

"Shall I continue?" he asked.

For a time, Eberhart said nothing, and Vladren returned his attention to the list. Before he could continue, Eberhart said, "If you answer barbarism with barbarism, what separates us from them?"

Vladren smiled and handed the list back to the Corvii. "The border."

Eberhart was silent.

"Come with me, my lord."

The young Prince of Thorns' voice was smooth and calm, almost too calm. Eberhart followed without question. The servos of his armor whined as he moved. Vladren's servos did not make a sound.

They rode their mounts for three days, the same amount of time it took Vladren to reach Eberhart's Duunhold. At the end of the third day, they reached Varkesh.

The Orunhold rose from the black mountain it was carved out of centuries ago. The outer walls climbed in tier upon tier of dark stone. Each bastion was broad enough to swallow Duunholds whole. Buttresses were carved into the mountainside like the roots of a petrified god. No banners flew from the walls; Varkesh needed none. The Sign of the Eternal Thorn was etched into the mountain itself.

Eberhart's gaze wandered across the view from his mountaintop. Then his gaze settled on the valley below.

Thin stakes pierced the ground of the valley. They stood in ordered rows, aligned and rising evenly along the terrain. None was taller than another; all were of equal height and thickness. Yet each bore a different shape. Some held dark forms at their tops, others lower down. Some were bare.

Eberhart did not need Vladren to tell him what he was looking at. He already knew. The Garden of Thorns.

Eberhart's destrii slowed beneath him.

The nearer they came, the less the stakes resembled shapes and the more they became men.

Some had been dead long enough for the wind to strip them down to leather and bone. Others were fresh. Their armor had been removed, their names fixed to small iron plates at the base of each stake.

Vladren dismounted.

Eberhart followed.

Neither man spoke as they entered the first row.

The Corvii followed several paces behind.

Vladren stopped beside one of the newer stakes.

“Kharvek Suul.”

Eberhart looked at the body.

Vladren continued.

“Led the raid at Hollen. Forty-seven dead.”

He moved to the next.

“Drevan Korr. Burned the grain houses at Vey. Twenty-three dead.”

Another.

“Marek Thaal. Took prisoners from the eastern farms. None returned.”

Eberhart's jaw tightened.

“Enough.”

Vladren continued walking.

“You asked what separates us from them.”

Eberhart followed him between the stakes.

“I remember.”

Vladren stopped.

Ahead stood one empty stake.

Unlike the others, there was no iron plate fixed to its base.

Eberhart stared at it.

“Is that mine?”

Vladren looked at him.

For the first time in three days, the Thorn Prince smiled.

“No.”

He held out his hand.

One of the Corvii stepped forward and placed the scroll of names into it.

“No.”

He handed Eberhart the scroll.

Eberhart looked down at the scroll.

“You will remain Lord of your Duunhold.”

Eberhart slowly raised his eyes.

Vladren pointed toward the empty stake.

"You will carve every name onto an iron plate. When a plate is full, you will make another. You will place them here."

The wind passed through the valley.

Thousands of iron plaques clicked softly against wood.

Eberhart looked again at the list.

Farmers.

Merchants.

Smiths.

Children.

His peace.

His dead.

"And when the stake is full?" he asked.

Vladren turned toward Varkesh.

"Then you will understand why the Garden grows."

Eberhart stood alone between the rows of thorns as the Voivode walked away. Above them, carved into the black mountain, the Sign of the Eternal Thorn watched over the valley.