Heritage of Ash: Chapter 5, Fading Light
Here, we see what those who truly care for those around them must face, and how the quality of a leader can be defined by acts of devotion and selflessness. If only that were ever enough.
Cold sweat ran down Kara's fur, her heart racing as she moved as faster than she ever had thought possible. Her panting and the rapid footfalls of her hind paws the only audible sounds to her, the rest of the world utterly silent, a swift blur as the trees and road rushed behind her. If not for her knowledge of the land, her intended path would have been lost to her within moments of her flight from Turin's mercenaries and brigands, the fear of them catching her, or getting to Kolyat's Stand before her somehow speeding her on. Her mind was clouded with fearful thoughts and imaginings of what would soon befall her home and friends, grotesque depictions of horror and slaughter that distracted her for a moment. To her great dismay, this one moment proved to be enough, as her paw caught a root and promptly planted her muzzle down into the mud and soil. She gasped and pulled herself up, scrambling back onto her feet, only to be stopped harshly by a painful jolt up her spine from the paw that had caught the root that tripped her. She winced in stiff pain and reached to it, pulling her hand away suddenly as the agony was great and her paw was sensitive to it. Not broken, but badly sprained and ultimately unpleasant to deal with, more so given the fact that if she stopped to tend to it, she may not be able to warn the Marshal of the impending attack. Laying against one of the great trees, Kara let out a remorseful howl and sobbed. She sat there, crying into her furry hands and didn't move from that spot for a length of time she'd forgotten to keep track of. She raised her head and looked onward through the trees, a stern but sorrowful look in her eyes as she forced herself back onto her feet. The moment her feet touched the earth again, her body was struck by sharp and deep pain, nearly toppling her again. She clinched her teeth and dug her claws into the bark of the tree beside her, focusing solely on her goal and blocking out the pain that came with each step.
Within the walled limits of Kolyat's Stand, things were becoming equally as frantic. Those who were ordered to evacuate were frightened and the guards were barely able to keep everyone calm, hurridly organizing the evacuees and helping them gather what they'd need for their flight from their homes. Many were bitter and sorrowful; not only were they being made to leave their homes, but they were being asked to now leave behind the ones that they raised and watched grow up behind. Mothers sorrowfully clung to their children, begging them not to stay, pleading the guards to let them leave with them, hot tears of pain and loss soaking their fur. The guards were no happier about the situation, and while their hearts tugged at them, aching to go with the refugees, they all knew they had to remain. If none stayed to protect the people while they escaped, none would survive or be left free. From atop the ramparts, Larkiin looked down at he remorseful scene. His people had long been plagued by bandits and marauders because of their proximity to the wilderness, and only in the passing of the last twenty summers had they found the courage to stand for themselves and deal with their challenges together. And now, faced with the dark choice of fighting and dying or fleeing all they'd known and built for a chance at life, they fled.
Carts and wagons slowly moved out of the western gate, sentries observing with tears in their eyes as they waved their people goodbye, for what all present feared would be the last time. Was this to be his legacy, Larkiin would think to himself as he watched from afar. Would he stand alone with his few men, brave as they were, and lay down their lives against a foe that they could not best? He closed his eyes, and a smile graced his lips, a familiar voice speaking in his mind. His father, reminding him as a pup what it meant to be a leader and of the heavy burden of caring for those around you...
"Remember, Korma, caring for others also means being responsible for them. Protect them, guide them, and be there for them when they need you."
"But father, how can I do all of that?! Most of the other boys won't even talk to me because you're the Marshal. How am I supposed to protect and guide them when they won't even look at me?"
"Ahh, the troubles of youth... One day, son. One day you will see that even when people don't want to be protected, those who truly care about others will protect them anyway."
"I don't understand..."
"Some day you will, Korma. Some day, when I am gone and you watch over the people, you know what I speak of..."
It had been many years since those days. So many seasons had passed, and for the longest time, Korma still did not understand what his father meant. But now, looking down at the sight of his people, what his father said so long ago rang true. A soft chuckle escaped the Marshal's lips as he thought on how even now his father was still lecturing him. As he turned and made his way back into the keep, his eyes gained a subtle clarity, as if peace had been made within Korma's mind. This. This is what he was meant to do. This is where he would make his stand and fulfill a promise made so long ago. His people needed him, and now, it was his time to accept responsibility for all of them and face down the one who would do harm unto them.
Servants rushed about, frantically seeing their final duties were done and trying to offer their goodbyes to the loved ones that remained. Within his secluded study in the heart of the structure, Korma shut himself in and stepped before an old, dark wooded cabinet. It's carved details and engravings had long since worn down, but somehow remained defiantly present, as if the wood itself aged with the man. Upon opening it, Larkiin gazed upon the contents; a mid-weight suit of armor of the greatest quality, forged out of rare, polished steel. Designed by a master armorer and constructed out of equal parts chain, plate and tsovik leather, the armor itself gave off an almost peacefully readied aura. Doning it and bearing the proud mark of his clan emblazoned upon the helm, Larkiin looked at himself in the wall mounted mirror and nodded. He was ready. Taking up the broadsword sitting atop its mantle and slinging his family's shield over his back, Larkiin stepped forth, armed, armored and ready for whatever may come. He would stand with his people and be with them, not hide behind walls of stone and wood and wait. And so out he went, bold and defiant of his fate, a warm feeling of approval tugging at his mind, like a father smiling down at his son in pride.
As he stepped out into the light, Larkiin's attention was immediately grabbed by a guard racing towards him, a young woman in tow. Instantly recognizing the Sen as Kara, he stopped the two and let the guard catch his breath before saluting the Marshal and speaking.
"Hail, Marshal. The messenger you sent out two days hence has returned. She would not tell me what she wants to say, only that it needed to go to you directly and without delay."
"Thank you, Guardsman," Larkiin replied, returning the salute. "Return to your post and see that preparations remain on schedule." With that, the guard nodded and disappeared as quickly as he came, leaving the Korma and Kara alone to speak. Kara was filthy with sweat and mud, her eyes glazed from exhaustion having obviously ran through the night and not stopped. As she stepped forth, panting heavily and barely able to utter a word, she began to fall forward, Larkiin catching her mid-fall in his arms and holding her up.
"Turin... two days east...army... coming here... must run-" That was all the poor girl could say before weakness claimed her and she finally collapsed, falling into so deep a sleep that nothing the Marshal did could rouse her. Though her speech was uneven and barely audible, he could make out what she had ran so far and swiftly to tell him. Turin was coming with an army and was already two days from the village. Approaching from the east would mean that the innocents would at least be out of the immediate path of the encroaching force, though their proximity might still be too near for their own safefy if they dallied any further. Taking Kara back into the keep and laying her down delicately on his bed so she may recover comfortably, Larkiing sighed. There was no doubt and no question in his mind of what he had to do. And so he left, swiftly moving to the village and carrying the grave news to his people so that they might be warned in time. On the horizon, a wide, dark bank of clouds glided across the skyline, casting a shadow over the land as the wind carried the storm from the north, the loud rumblings of wrath just out of earshot...