It burns deep down inside of me

  We have ourselves to blame

  Not questioning, accept it as the truth

  Debate this fight, it's just cause

  The facts do not support theirs

  To liberate a people

  And rid them of tyrant rule

  Is it time to make a change?

  Are we closer than before?

  Can we help them break away?

  Are we profiting from war?

  It's time to make the change!

  Dream Theater, "Prophets of War"

  ***

  When the gates of Asternia opened early on a November morning, platoons of soldiers bearing the crests of Tepei-Kuon flooded the streets, and the march of a new state, founded on the ruins of Aktida, thundered in the main square. The sleepy townspeople didn’t immediately understand what was happening. Prodded with musket barrels and swords, they were forced out into the cold, where, shivering from frost, fear, and confusion, they listened to the new government's decree: Asternia was now part of the Tepei-Kuon Empire. The governor's seat would be taken by the viceroy of Saelin, and the citizens were ordered, under pain of death, to obey the new authority.

  Those who tried to protest, thinking it was some sort of cruel joke, were executed on the spot, no trial, no investigation. Panic broke out. The crowd rushed at the soldiers… and was met with an impenetrable shield. The soldiers showed no mercy. People were slaughtered like pigs, as if to prove the new garrison would stop at nothing. The townspeople gave up resistance and tried to flee, but Tepei-Kuon had clamped the city in a vice. Wagons filled with weapons and regiments of infantry and cavalry waited at the gates, ready to enter.

  The civilians flailed like flies in a web, desperately trying to escape. The guards who had once manned the gates now sat nearby, grimly watching the advancing troops, offering no help, but also not interfering. In panic, the crowd surged toward the governor’s palace.

  Telorand awoke before his valet entered the room—he had heard, through his sleep, the screams of people at the castle walls. He rose, rubbing his eyes and looking grimly through the window. The sun was hidden behind clouds gathering over the city, threatening a downpour. A knock came at the door. The governor turned to the valet.

  "What do they want?"

  "Your Excellency," the valet murmured, swallowing nervously. "The people don’t understand… They want to know why the gates were opened without resistance. Why these strangers are doing as they please in our city… Or do you not know either?"

  Telorand stared at him, then said,

  "Fetch the pages. Have them bring me clothes. Nothing too flashy, no bright togas or cloaks. I need travel boots, a good chainmail, and a short sword. We have to get out of here."

  As the governor stepped out of his chambers, fastening his cloak, the valet tried to speak again, but Telorand cut him off:

  "My fault. I’ll admit—I believed, until the very end, that it wasn’t true. Besides, they came too early… I didn’t expect them before the start of winter. I thought we’d get news from Mainor first and have time to evacuate the townspeople to the north."

  "What happened?"

  "A letter arrived from Mainor two weeks ago. With the royal seal, but signed by Maclevirr, ordering us to open the gates when guests arrive from the south. I gave that order to the head of the guard to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. It was obvious: if they came to Asternia, they’d bring a massive army."

  "And now?" One of his advisors was approaching; they had just entered the palace’s reception hall.

  "Are we fleeing?"

  Shouts rang out at the doors; Tepei-Kuon soldiers were pushing past the palace guard with spears and swords. Telorand glanced at them and said quietly:

  "First, we watch. Gather the people… But we should not postpone it too much. Otherwise, the chaos settles, and they start watching the gates more closely."

  The soldiers approached, now wearing the crests of Tepei-Kuon. They weren’t even in a hurry. Triumph and superiority were written plainly on their faces.

  "Outside," said one of them.

  "And to whom do I have the honor—?"

  "Outside! The Viceroy of Mainor hasn’t arrived yet. He’ll be here tomorrow morning and take over these chambers. Until then, if you’ve got complaints, take them to the commander of the vanguard legion. He’s on the square with the heralds. Now move! Before I order the men to use force! Go on, out! I want this place empty!"

  They were pushed outside. The cold wind hit them, and Telorand shivered, stumbled, and leaned on the advisor’s shoulder. The entire palace staff and a detachment of guards, who had silently surrendered their weapons on the governor’s orders, followed close behind. They were left alone. In the courtyard, Saelin’s cavalry rode their horses. The gates were open, and several soldiers in Tepei-Kuon armor were holding back the screaming crowd. Beneath the heavy stone arch lay several bodies—dead or wounded, it was unclear. Telorand felt sick with revulsion.

  Orders were orders, of course. And Maclevirr was Emerlun’s man, an Alven. That’s why Asternia had surrendered and opened its gates to the Empire. But Telorand had no intention of staying in the city.

  "Let us through!" he said, approaching the arch. The crowd fell silent for a moment, then murmured again, but stopped trying to force their way in. The soldiers raised their spears and let them pass. Looters were already running into the palace one after another. The governor had no doubt that within half an hour, all valuables would be carted off and well hidden.

  They made it outside, the crowd closed around them, and, following the suddenly hunched-over governor, who felt how hard walking had become, they slowly moved along the street toward the gates.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "What’s going on?!"

  "What the hell?!"

  "Who are these people? Why are we being forced to the square to listen to heralds?!"

  "Your Excellency, please explain!"

  "There’s nothing to explain," Telorand said darkly. The crowd instantly went quiet, a low murmur passed through, and faded. "It’s over, people! I am no longer governor! Tomorrow, a new viceroy arrives to take my seat, and I—well, they’ve seen fit to retire me. Long overdue, frankly."

  "If this is a joke, it’s a bad one, Governor!" A young man pushed his way to the front. "Tell us the truth! What’s happening in Mainor? Why did you allow the city guard to let Tepei-Kuon troops in, if we’re at war with them?! Is this… betrayal?!"

  Telorand shook his head.

  "If it is, it’s not mine. I swear before the altar of Aktos that I never disobeyed the will of the king or the government. I followed the regent’s order faithfully—an order bearing the seal and all the proper signatures. The decision was made jointly by the Cabinet of Ministers. Who am I to defy them?"

  "They say Petista fought back," another man said. "Rumors have spread… There was a battle at the end of October. I came from Mainor just a week ago. Before that, I served in the Eastern Province, in the reserve regiment. Then they transferred us to the capital. Said the war was over, and the capital was surrendering to Saelin…"

  "Mainor surrendered?!" someone in the crowd gasped. In the hush, they could hear the heralds shouting themselves hoarse in the square.

  "Aktos save us," muttered an old man. "Petista’s our last hope…"

  "There’s no hope," said the man from Mainor grimly. "Petista lost the battle—it was over in a few hours. The garrison was wiped out to the last man. Only a handful of refugees escaped—a hundred people, no more. Then they blocked the Folkar’s Pass to seal the country off."

  "What do we do now?" a frightened young woman asked. She held a child in her arms; a bearded man wrapped an arm around her.

  "Run," Telorand said, scanning the street. "As fast as possible. We’ve got the centaur fortress nearby, the Enchanted Forest—bandits won’t go there. We can slip through, head north, and cross the border—it’s a week’s journey. Gather everyone you can and go to the gates—quietly, in order, no panic."

  He turned and walked briskly down the street, and the crowd slowly followed.

  Gunshots rang out, horses’ hooves thundered down the main avenues, and the clatter of wagons and cannons echoed along the cobblestones. Near the gates, it was almost quiet. The first wave of invaders had long since entered the city and spread through the streets, while the rest of the units hadn’t yet arrived. The moment was favorable…

  They ran.

  They were spotted when the terrified, freedom-drunk crowd surged toward the wide-open city gates. The soldiers opened fire, cavalry charged to intercept them, but the people were escaping, and it was nearly impossible to stop them. The cavalry got bogged down in the human tide. People fought back with bare hands, fists against steel. By the time the alarm sounded and the main forces reached the gates, the very first refugees were already deep in the forest. They scattered, hiding among the hills, doubling back, forcing the pursuit to split into smaller groups to chase them through the dense undergrowth, while the main body slipped ever farther north, toward the ruins of Karonordil.

  The wind rustled softly through the bare branches, stripping the last remnants of golden November leaves. The governor collapsed, gasping, into the arms of his valet and advisor. He no longer had the strength to run, so they dragged him along as best they could. Nearby loomed the Olmaer Ridge, which could offer shelter and a roof overhead. At last, they were safe from pursuit.

  They descended into a long ravine, crossing the path, and took cover at its bottom, finally allowing themselves a short rest. Telorand collapsed onto the grass, utterly spent. Around fifty people had escaped with him; the rest had scattered into the forest, seeking refuge among the somber pine giants—or meeting death at the hands of their pursuers.

  There was no going back.

  They waited in tense silence for nearly an hour, resting. A dozen more refugees trickled into the small camp.

  "Does anyone know what’s happening in Vaimar?" Telorand asked quietly, breaking the silence. "What if it’s been taken too?"

  "No way," one of the nearby soldiers said darkly. "And it won’t be. Everyone’s heading for Vaimar now. They say Jake Farian is gathering forces and will help the remnants of the army reclaim Aktida. More than half of Mainor’s population left through the Enchanted Forest. Geonar and Felm have moved their armies north. The centaurs are heading for the Regerlim Forest—soon they’ll join the rebels too…"

  "The rebels?" Telorand echoed.

  "You didn’t know?" The soldier looked surprised. "The organization was formed last winter in Vaimar. The idea was to overthrow the king and establish a republic or something like that… But now it’s turned into a revolution against Saelin, you see? Jeremy!"

  "What?" one of the soldiers answered.

  "Where’s the rebel base?"

  "No idea," Jeremy Conenti grumbled. "Are you nuts? It’s a secret site, hidden so well even the devil couldn’t find it. But Dalid said that right now, it’s just a foundation. They won’t finish building it before next summer…"

  "Not the best location," said another soldier, older, but strikingly similar to Jeremy. "Last time I saw Dalid was when he returned to Mainor from the Eastern Province. He said construction had started in a rush, and they were building the fortress in the mountains because he needed to be closer to Olmaer. Supposedly, it was the king’s final command."

  "I don’t know what Jake’s hoping for," another man muttered. "Only a handful of the last refugees made it to Vaimar. The bulk of the rebel force is made up of Geonar’s and Felm’s armies… So many died before even crossing the border."

  "Why is everyone going to Vaimar anyway?" came some frustrated voices. "What are we supposed to do there?"

  "There’s order. And peace. And a strong king. Lower taxes. More land."

  "It’s freezing cold there half the year. Nothing grows. I spent my whole life growing rice in the south… Now what? Herd sheep?"

  "In Aktida, we’re sitting on a powder keg. What if Saelin decides to make all the Alvens slaves?! Nocturns and goblins fight on his side, and they all hate us! No, I’d rather herd sheep in Vaimar. At least Jake Farian will protect us…"

  "Vaimar is the last hope," said Jeremy. "Damn, look where we are now. Fought for a year and a half, and lost everything."

  "Remember how we celebrated New Year in Ornshort?" said Folle Conenti, reminiscing. "There were those two guys—Kairu Kenai and Woody Miles… Haven’t seen them since the battle for Mainor. Kairu gave a toast… something about uniting the nations. That we should all stand on one side of the barricades."

  "Yeah, I remember," Jeremy sighed. "That Kairu was a good guy, but man, was he naive. Unity of nations? On one side of the barricades? When for decades the Alvens did nothing but humiliate the Kalds and Nocturns living on our lands? It's laughable. You know what? It’s probably wrong to say this, but I feel like… in some way, we kind of brought this on ourselves.

  "We brought it on ourselves? Hell no! Let them all go to hell! We’ll take it back! The Kalds are with us!" angry voices shouted in response.

  "Fools. The Kalds will gladly fight to take back Aktida—and then establish their own rule over it," Jeremy said wearily. "But as for me, I couldn’t care less anymore. I’m ready to do anything now to see Jake and the Kalds win. Because the war is already lost for the Alvens. All that’s left is to pick a side, and I choose Vaimar."

  "Geonar and Felm chose him, too," Telorand said thoughtfully. "If good strategists are backing Vaimar, then I’ll support its rise as well… And for us, it seems the only choice now is to find the rebels and ask for shelter. They appear to be the only Alvens who have some power and are still alive."

  "Then we go north," one of the advisors noted. "Let’s move. We need to cross the plain and reach the Enchanted Forest. From there, we can hope the centaurs will offer us sanctuary…"

  After resting another half hour, they hastily gathered themselves and moved west through the underbrush, toward the edge of the forest where the wide meadows began. The woods here bordered the land of the centaurs, and as soon as they stepped into the open, the governor saw the dark line of trees on the horizon. Wind swept freely through the yellow, uncut fields. The people, having fled the city without warm clothing, now shivered from the cold. Infants wailed in their mothers’ arms, children clung to parents, trying to stay warm. Everyone was hungry and thirsty. The former residents of Asternia, now suddenly homeless, trudged slowly, weakened by exhaustion. The ground was wet, the path churned to mud, and pushing through the tall grass was a grueling task…

  In Telorand’s memory, this would remain the worst march he had ever experienced. The march of desperate fugitives.

  The Olmaer Mountains were a faint line in the north. The last flocks of birds crossed the sky, flying southward. The day dragged on endlessly, and even as dusk fell, the Asternians refused to stop. They pushed forward along the forest’s edge, searching for an entrance into the secret kingdom of the centaurs, until at last they found a narrow, hidden trail leading deep into the wilderness.

  There, they were found by Ioran, a border guard on his final patrol before heading north to follow his kin and leaving behind Aktida, which had become for the centaurs a land of sorrow.