The Chimaera Regiment (20 page)

Shortly thereafter, Hector made another decree, which was revolutionary for peoples who had lived in complete servitude to their lord: Any person or tribe unwilling to live in Fylscea as an Annifrean would be welcome at all times, but was free to depart for their own land. Several families from the old Chimaera Regiment were the first to break away, for they thought Hector weak and dishonorable; the Termessians, too, returned to their forest, but as allies. The Emmetchae, under a new queen, also went to their own homeland; Reina remained behind and was betrothed to Fintan. The Alkimites and all of their allies journeyed to Fylscea to join the new empire, and the Sidians were proud to be an integral part of it.

Hector, meanwhile, spent much of his time studying in the Library, with Aneirin there to guide him through the language. The Guardian explained everything he knew about the Wrack and the fall of the old empire, including his own nature and the nature of his father. Like many of the things Hector had encountered in the Library, Aneirin and his fellow Guardians were machines, designed to protect the imperial bloodline. They had never met their father, the Eye, and the man who woke Aneirin, Ajax Tellap, had said very little.

When Hector was not ruling Annifrea, or learning from Aneirin, or reading tomes in the Library, he was with Bronwyn. They spent all their free time together, growing closer in friendship and in love. Three months after Derek’s death, Hector had asked Bronwyn to be his wife, and she had agreed. They were to be married on the first day of the month of Carymen in the following year, under the auspices of Carys, goddess of love and mercy. Rhoda, Hector’s mother, was overjoyed.

Caradoc became Fornein’s pupil and the empire’s first official Storyteller. Together, the two of them had gathered the tales of the wars, from everyone who had a part in them. Fintan and Aneirin had been great resources for the things that had happened to the Alkimites in Hector’s absence; Hector, too, had been glad to tell of Brynjar’s heroism and the evils of Lord Eitromal. Fornein told the first rendition of the story; not much later, he died, happy to have brought joy and adventure into the lives of children again.

On the last day of Hemimen, the half-month of solemnity, Hector made another announcement. “I know you are suffering as you remember this past year,” he told the people, “We all are. We all lost friends, brothers, and fathers in the Imperial War. Their deaths weigh heavily on my own heart. But tomorrow begins the first day, not only of a new year, but of a new era. The sixth era was marked by chaos and death, but we have come together and ended that time. The seventh era will be remembered as one of joy, hope, and new life. Let us make tomorrow, the first of Kyromen, a day of celebration and thanksgiving for every year to come. Let us appreciate not only our own lives, and those now lost to us—those who lived well and boldly, who died fighting for us—but especially for those lives yet to come, who are blessed by what we have accomplished. Let us begin a new tradition here: give thanks for the lives we were so fortunate as to witness, and tell the story of their gift to us, this new era, to our children, and to our children’s children. May our fallen brothers truly live forever in the mind and heart of Annifrea, and may our descendants never forget the hope that was forged in these fires.”

The new celebration was praised and cheered by the people. But Hector could not be found among the crowds, nor among the lords and ladies in their banquet hall; he was hidden away from the noise, reading quietly in the Library of the Ancients. Aneirin found him there, and approached him in silence.

Hector broke his gaze from the tome in his hands and looked up at the Guardian. “Lord Aneirin,” he said with a diplomatic smile, “How may I help you?”

Aneirin curled his lipless mouth into a wry grin. “You’re getting too accustomed to formalities,” he said, “You’ve just called me ‘lord’ again.”

Hector frowned, furrowing his brow. “Have I?” he asked as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve just come from two banquets and one formal dance. I had to greet six lords, not to mention greeting the gathered people twice. Formalities are the way of things for an emperor, I suppose.” He glanced around at the innumerable volumes available to him. “This Library makes a fine escape from all of that.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aneirin replied softly, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “You still haven’t opened it to the public, I see,” he continued more casually, pointing toward the entrance. “You have guards posted outside now?”

Hector smiled sadly. “There’s too much history here, Aneirin,” he said, “Too much power. I can’t let this place fall into the wrong hands.”

“You can’t hide these things from your people forever,” Aneirin warned, “They deserve to know their own past, and they’ve already noticed that you spend all of your time here. People are bound to get curious. They already wonder what goes on here and why so few have seen it.”

“I don’t intend to hide anything,” Hector responded. “Many of these books will be returned to the people. There are more than enough buildings in Fylscea for us to use as a library. But this one, along with whatever I choose to keep here, remains off-limits.”

Aneirin did not reply right away, but when he did, he changed the subject. “Which book are you reading?” he asked.

“It’s something that your old friend, Ajax Tellap, wrote,” Hector answered. “It’s the official record of the Wrack. Ajax was a political aide to the emperor and a friend of your father’s. He was one of the architects of the empire’s collapse, and explains what happened in some detail.

“It seems that the Eye, your father, was given access to every system and authority in the empire. His task was administrative; he was supposed to manage the military, the economy, healthcare and education, infrastructure and diplomacy, all while remaining subject to those who appointed him. But soon, he saw the decadence and corruption of the old Fylscem Empire. He saw that men were lazy and evil, and he set out to change the world.

“So, with his own servants, he placed every weapon and tool of destruction in secure vaults. After that, and once he had built you Guardians to preserve the imperial lineage, he sacrificed himself to destroy the bonds that held men together in the empire. It plunged the world into chaos, and thus began the sixth era.” Hector glanced back at the tome and added, “He had a lot of remorse for what happened, I think.”

Aneirin nodded slowly. “He never told me those things,” the Guardian said, “but after he activated us and sent us away with our orders, he sealed himself inside here. I never saw him again, but before we parted ways, he spoke often of his second thoughts about what he had done. I think he felt personally responsible for the troubles that so many people experienced after that. I suppose he lived out his days here, writing that book and finalizing my father’s plans for the Library.”

Hector frowned. “Aneirin,” he asked uneasily, “how could your father willingly cause the Wrack? How could the gods allow it? When the Fylscem Empire fell, an era of peace fell with it. Wars began again. Ancient diseases, which had been cured for centuries, were fatal again. What the Eye did... he killed more people than I can fathom.”

Aneirin smiled reassuringly. “I cannot vouch for my father’s character, Hector. I never met him. But he wanted to show mankind that they had strayed from Kyros’ plan. I think the only way that he could do that was with drastic action.

Hector was not quite satisfied, but he smiled and nodded, then looked back at the book. “I’m thinking of restarting this tradition more officially,” he said, changing the subject again, “I think Doc would love to be the Grand Imperial Historian, or something like that.”

Aneirin laughed. “I believe he would,” he replied. After a moment, he added, “And his sister will make a fine empress.”

Hector blushed a little, then tried to respond coolly, “You really think so?”

The other man smiled. “Yes,” he affirmed, “I do.”

Hector laughed quietly, grinning from ear to ear. Then he looked up, as if remembering something. “What was it you wanted, Aneirin?”

The Guardian bowed his head slightly. “I’m afraid,” he replied, “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Hector echoed incredulously. His expression turned to panic. He protested, “I can’t do all of this without you!”

Aneirin chuckled at his friend’s overreaction. “Yes, you can,” he returned, “You’re perfectly capable. You don’t need me anymore. But one day, you might—and I am certain that your descendants will.” He bowed low, and rose with a broad smile. “I’ll be around.”

In a way, Hector felt cheated. He had grown accustomed to having Aneirin around for advice and support. He wanted to ask a million questions, about where Aneirin was going, why he had to leave, and what Hector had to look forward to in the years to come. He wanted even one more minute with his friend. But he had also known that this day would come: the Guardian had lived away from the Alkimite village for all of Hector’s life. Now that peace reigned again, he would leave life to the living; Hector knew, deep down, that he had to make his own choices.

Which was not to say that he was happy about it. Tears welled in his eyes. All he could find to say was, “Aulus with you, Aneirin.”

Aneirin beamed. “And with you... Emperor.”

The 39th year of the Seventh Era

The fourth of the month of Kyromen

Late in the twelfth hour

“Did anybody ever see Lord Aneirin again, Uncle Doc?” the small boy asked of the old Storyteller.

The child’s great-uncle laughed at his eagerness. “No, Cadmus, not yet,” he answered. “It is rumored that he went to find the remains of his brothers, even Drystan, so that he could give them a proper burial. And I have a feeling that he’s still out there somewhere, ready to help us at a moment’s notice.”

There was a heavy rap at the door. Cadmus, whose ninth birthday had passed three weeks earlier, rushed to the door to grant his father entrance. A handsome young man, lean, muscular, and in his mid-thirties, stepped into the small house. He wrapped Cadmus up in a powerful hug; the boy was full of questions. “Did Grandpa really kill the evil heir? Did he, Dad? Was Grandma really as beautiful as Uncle Doc makes her sound? Did you ever meet Lord Tiernach or the others?”

The man laughed. “Save your questions for the walk home, little one.” He set the boy down and nudged him toward the armchair. “Now get your things,” he commanded. As Cadmus scrambled to gather his coat, scarf, and hat, the man turned to old Caradoc. “You know, I knew that as soon as Dad passed away, you were going to start telling that story to his grandson. They didn’t let you tell it to me until I was fifteen.” He shook his head in mock reproval. “Mum always said it was too violent.”

“Well,” Caradoc retorted, leaning toward the young man, “forgive me if I overstepped my bounds, Emperor Ronen, but you know I only have the child’s best interests at heart. He should know his history—and the heritage of his family.”

Ronen smiled. “I know, Uncle. I don’t blame you. His mother might tan my hide for letting you get away with it, though.”

Cadmus returned to his father, sufficiently bundled for the cold. Ronen wrapped the boy’s scarf around him once more; then the two nodded their goodbyes to Caradoc and departed together. Cadmus asked, “Will I ever have great adventures like Grandpa and Grandma did, Dad?”

The two were met by Kennard, Cadmus’ favorite imperial guard. Ronen knelt beside the boy and patted him on the head. “Hush now,” he said, “Run home with Kennard, here, and say goodnight to your mother. She’s very tired from carrying a little baby around in her belly all day long.” He nudged the boy homeward. “Run along. I’ll be home shortly.”

The boy obeyed. Ronen stood and watched his son run down the snow-laden path with the young guard. Those two were thick as thieves, and since the storm had passed, they were jumping for joy. Ronen could not help but smile.

At long last, he turned to take his customary stroll through the forest. He answered his son’s question to the emptiness that accompanied him: “Boy, I hope not.”

Nathaniel Turner spent his youth on the mission field with his parents, residing in Cyprus, Russia, India, and Singapore. He received a Bachelor’s Degree from Baylor University in Classical Philology and Religious Studies. He currently lives in Wisconsin with his wife.

Alongside
The Chimaera Regiment
, he has authored five prayer-books in the “31 Prayers” series.

Stay tuned for this book’s sequel,
The Aegipan Revolution
, and more projects by Nathaniel Turner by visiting his website at

http://www.VersorBooks.com

ISBN: 978-3-95830-334-8
Verlag GD Publishing Ltd. & Co KG, Berlin
E-Book Distribution: XinXii
www.xinxii.com