Kingdom of Amaryah

Day of Sorrow, 2739 DP

Daerish screamed.

The king's soldier braced his foot on Freyna's small body and yanked his sword free. The weapon glistened ruby red.

Daerish stared, horrified, at the broken body of his friend. Freyna had been a year younger than himself; she had seen only six winters... They had known each other their whole lives, played in the glade outside the city...

The world around him slowed. It was one of those moments where reality and the mind seemed to conjoin into one long drawn-out moment. His childhood innocence shattered like glass, spilling out like Freyna's still-warm blood. Like a frightened deer, his perceived safety fled. He had trusted in the king to keep them safe and yet... and yet the king had allowed traitors into his ranks.

The sluggish crawl of realization came rushing back with imploding force. Freyna's blood now flowed freely, coalescing way too fast on the cobblestones. The warm summer air blew back Daerish's hair, filling his nostrils with the scent of the morning's apple pie and iron-rich blood. He heard screams too close for comfort, cries too broken for what had been a beautiful morning. The sun had barely risen.

The soldier turned towards Daerish's scream and gave a cat's grin. Without a second thought, the soldier tore the king's crest from his shoulder patch and threw it into the growing red puddle. The golden lion on a field of purple gleamed in the summer sun. Already, Freyna's blood cast a harsh contrast against the king's symbol.

The red hadn't yet soaked through when Mother collected Daerish into her arms and ran into their home. While they were commoners, his father worked for a nobleman in an esteemed position. As a result, they could afford a house with rooms. He didn't have to share the common space with the hearth, his parents, and their goat. However, that meant she had more obstacles to maneuver around. She left a path of carnage in her wake—upended chairs, a shattered vase, anything and everything to slow the man down.

She burst through the back door, their gate, and onto the cobbled streets—

The houses and market shops of Amaryah were filled with screams. Over his mother's shoulder, Daerish saw the red that glistened between the cobblestones. The roads had grown garish veins. The streets themselves were full of death. An active battlefield and morgue.

Traitors dressed in the king's military garb slaughtered, abused, and tortured civilians. He turned his face away as a traitor grabbed a young woman and brutishly slammed her against the wall of Brennan's shop, his bloodied hand dropping to his belt.

I played with Freyna this morning... and now... and now...

His lip trembled. All he could see was her face contorted in pain, blue eyes full of unadulterated terror. Her blood. Her blood.

Mother froze at the sight of the massacre. Over her shoulder, Daerish caught sight of Freyna's murderer running towards them.

"Mother! Mother, he's here!"

She darted down an alleyway, bending around corners and weaving between buildings and more bloody skirmishes. But just before she made her turns, Daerish saw the murderous soldier.

And he was catching up.

"Mother!" he cried, clutching her tear-soaked shoulder.

She rounded yet another, and Daerish realized she hadn't been running aimlessly. They skittered to a stop in the sector's training grounds.

All the soldiers–the loyal ones–lay in puddles of their own blood. Throats slit, limbs thrown haphazardly, abdomens punctured, and entrails strewn about. How could the king have let this happen?!

Daerish felt more than saw the hope leave his mother. Her breath rushed out; her shoulders sagged.

If Father were king, he wouldn't have let this happen!

"Baby," his mother said, untangling him from her arms. She placed his feet on the ground and knelt down. He protested, bursting into a new round of sobs–her arms were the safest place! "Baby, Daerish, listen to me."

She cradled his chin. "You must be brave."

Her voice was as hard and steady as rock, but as soft as downy feathers. Daerish stilled, his tears momentarily slowing.

Mother's nimble hand took his, and she ran across the grassy courtyard to the rickety stables. If it could even be called that. A series of posts held up a wooden roof. It was just enough to keep rain and the sweltering sun off the horses and straw.

Mother quickly made an empty space between the blocks of hay, and, without a word, she picked up Daerish and placed him in the golden cubby hole. Tears silently ran down her cheeks.

"Mother!"

She placed a wet kiss on his forehead, her brown hair caressing his shoulders. "Shhh, baby. It's all right. Everything is going to be okay. Now curl up on the ground for me."

He looked around at the short wall of hay surrounding himself. It was barely taller than his knees, not even wide enough for him to lay with his legs stretched out. He would have to curl up tight to fit.

"But what about you?" Warmth sprang to his eyes again. He reached for her hand, her gray dress, brown hair–anything to pull her towards him.

She shook her head, gray eyes sad but resolute. "I love you, Daerish. Never forget that."

Her nimble hands picked up a block of hay by its binding rope. "Lie down. Don't make a sound."

"But–"

"Do it, Daerish," she breathed, whispering quietly. "Don't come out until you see civilians searching for survivors. Don't move and don't make a sound."

He shook his head, biting his lip to mask his cries.

"Now!"

Sobbing quietly, he obeyed, curling tight and pressing his cheek against the damp earth. The bale of hay settled on top of him with a muffled thump. Everything darkened, and his world was filled with terror and the musty scent of straw. Fresh air filtered in through a sliver of space between two of the bales. It was just wide enough for Daerish to get a clear view of the courtyard, to see his mother pick up one of the fallen soldiers' swords. The metal glinted in the afternoon sun.

"Run, baby!" she screamed, facing the alleyway opposite him. "Don't look back! Run!"

He almost got up, almost exposed himself to do as she asked, but realized she was pretending. It was like when he played catch-and-go with Freyna and she was the seeker. He would continuously move hiding spots. Mother would pretend he had gone another direction to put Freyna off his trail.

As the words left her mouth, the murderer reeled into the square. The zing of his sword unsheathing rang in Daerish's ears. It resounded in the courtyard and buried itself deep in Daerish's mind.

Once again, the soldier grinned. It was as if the man had too many teeth. A shark's smile. Dark blood splattered his uniform as if he had been gleefully jumping in puddles like a child in a rainstorm. Was it Freyna's?

Mother raised her borrowed sword before her. She stood valiantly, and Daerish pictured her as one of the heroes in his bedtime stories. Hope swelled in his chest–

The soldier deftly knocked her blade aside and plunged his sword into her abdomen.

No!

As if the Almighty had silenced his voice and stole his very breath, no sound escaped him, no twitch of his limbs. No cry as he helplessly lay on the damp and musty earth, forced to watch as the monster twisted the blade.

A nightmare. This is a nightmare.

He tried to squeeze his eyes shut—if only to open them again and wake up—but he couldn't. He could only watch as the monster hesitated as if debating to torture her some more or to search for Daerish.

The soldier sneered down at Mother, then freed his blade and ran in the direction he perceived Daerish to be. A moment later, the murderer was gone.

The disappearance of the monster threw Daerish into motion. Daerish struggled with the bale above him for only a moment before he was free. It took him all but a second to run to Mother's side, to kneel before her.

"Momma," he cried. His hands hovered above her abdomen, but he had never seen such a wound, had no idea what to do. "Momma."

"Shh-sh. D-Daerish, go hide. Go back." Her hand, not yet bloodied, grasped his cheek.

"No!" He stroked her hair away from her face. "I'll save you!"

"Shhhh, you cannot save me, love."

He shook his head, tears falling from his chin. "Why didn't you run?"

"Because," she gasped, "he would not have been satisfied until he had killed one of us. One of us had to die a-and I will always die for you.... A life... for a life."

Her striking gray eyes, eyes that mirrored his own, found his and they seemed to smile... then they unfocused. Her pale hand fell from his cheek.

"No. No!"

He shook her shoulders, but she did not awake. He knew what it meant. He knew of death as soon as that monster had slid his blade into Freyna.

And so, crying, he left her there in the courtyard and returned to his cover of hay. He squeezed his eyes shut against the image of her body lying alone.

He would live. He would live for her. But he would never forget.

And as he lay there, cheek pressed against the earth and straw, he vowed he would never serve the king who had let traitors into his midst. He would never forget.