The Commander

1 The Semantics of Family

On the day of his grandest scheme, about-to-be-lord Ferethi Bastion meandered through the family vineyard. He pretended to oversee the work of pruning. As the brisk morning air gave way to the heat of the afternoon, Ferethi slipped away and into the hills beyond the last row of vines. His trek took him through the quaint Wallwood—a forest of wild citrus trees—and to the shoreline of Walrun River. The range of short mountains lining the opposite river shore peered over treetops as he came closer to the brown, lackadaisical river. Standing on the shore, alone, was Lord Elen Bastion, Ferethi’s father.

“Surprised, boy?” The lumbering Lord Bastion clasped his hands together behind his back, pushing out his chest as he stood straight. He stared at Ferethi through thin eyes encased by a strong wrinkled face topped by short, flat black hair.

“Should I be?” Ferethi said. Looking at his father was like looking into an aging mirror. Though they shared the same physical traits—aside from Ferethi’s younger features and long hair tied into a bun—Lord Bastion could not have been more different from his son.

“Drop the charade, boy. Your game is done. You’ve dishonored me and our family for the last time,” Lord Bastion said.

“Where are the elders?” Ferethi looked up and down the river, he saw neither the four Elders’ boat, carriage, nor cart.

“Hanging, where you would be too if you were not my son. Perhaps you should hang. I’ve protected you long enough. Through all your disrespect to the Empire and to your Prince, I’ve protected you. No more.” Lord Bastion held out a rolled-up slip of parchment.

“I’ve only done what my grandfather should have done. What you were too cowardly to do. You weren’t protecting me. You only wanted to protect your reputation.” Ferethi stepped forward to grab the paper, but not before he caught his father’s disgusted gaze. That damned face of his. I’ll cut it off of him and force him to look proud, Ferethi thought.

“Always the clever one. If you weren’t my son, I’d have you killed and left to rot in this river. I knew from the day you were born that you’d be nothing but a disappointment. It’s my fault for having any semblance of hope that you’d grow into the man Walrun needed. Pity.” Lord Bastion dropped the parchment to the sand before Ferethi grabbed it. His son reached down and picked up the note, unrolled it, and read it.

“Even if you disinherit me the Faith won’t forgive Walrun for my disloyalty. They’ll find out and you’ll face the punishment,” Ferethi said.

“They won’t.”

“Why not?”

Lord Bastion looked down at his son and sighed. “If they do, you’ll die. The disinherited son of a lord will receive no protection from me or any other noble. You’ll be at their mercy.”

Ferethi tore the paper in his hands and tossed it into the river. “I don’t need the Lordship of Walrun to free my people. They will follow me, always.”

“The Prince will know in five days what has become of you. The people can follow you all they want, but they’ll be doing so at the risk of having Prince Sebastian occupy Walrun and slaughter them by the thousands. The Empire is order and disregarding that order will not be met with anything other than swift justice.”

“Even in their slaughter, the people will resist with me so long as they know freedom from that disease you call the Faith is their reward.”

“The one thing you learned from me was tenacity. It’s shameful to see such precious strength wasted on folly. The Empire is the Faith, boy, and any attempt to keep one from the other will be met with destruction. I’ve had enough. Take your leave now. You’re no longer welcome in my home or on my land. Leave Walrun and never return.” Lord Bastion retained his rigid composure, not even adjusting his footing as the river climbed up the shore and swallowed his feet. Ferethi took in a quick breath and held it as he worked to keep control of his anger. This was not the first time his father had beaten him in their perpetual struggle for power. But it would be the last.

He looked to the midday sun and squinted into the brightness, letting the pain in his eyes overcome his emotions. He let the scorching light burn for a moment before turning from his father and slipping away into the citrus tree forest of Wallwood. The road to the docks of Walrun from the vineyard was mostly empty, save for three or four caravans carrying bottles of wine to the river docks. The footprint of the empire’s army still lingered in the fields of grass surrounding the city of Walrun. Trampled grass, old piles of discarded wood, trash mounds topped with rusted swords, unmarked graves poking from the ground, and an irrigation trench dug through the Wallwood from the river to the middle of a barren dirt circle just east of the city told the false story of resistance and struggle. The land lied. Walrun fell to the conquest of the late Emperor Harlov with nothing but a polite request, and the threat of fifty-thousand men knocking at the city’s doorstep.

The squat, dark Pocili, Ferethi’s hired confidant and friend, waited near a long flat raft laden with supplies at the end of a skinny dock. He was a Torithman, a group of people Ferethi could trust, because much like his own, Emperor Harlov conquered the people of Torith. Only they actually fought back and retained something of a respected status and freedom from full assimilation the other regions did not experience. Because of that Ferethi found it easy to trust Pocili with the intimate details of the plan. Ferethi never planned to stay in Walrun while the Elders carried out their mission. He was ready to leave the moment his meeting with them adjourned. Ferethi also never planned to kill his own father. To him the Faith and the evils of the Empire were separate and could be dealt with individually. The Empire alone didn’t threaten Walrun’s culture, truly it had brought a prosperity through trade and military might that Walrun had never seen. However, the crushing of ancient traditions and extinction of their own religion by the Faith, Ferethi could not abide. He saw then that if he was to free his people from the Faith, he would need to free them from his own father first.

Ferethi basked in the sun atop the ferry as it inched northward along the Walrun river. In the hours since the ferry’s departure, Ferethi devised his plan to murder his father. He would abandon the ferry and ride back to Walrun the next morning. He would wait until the evening and then sneak into his father’s study and poison the old man. By the time anyone discovered Lord Bastion had died, Ferethi would be back on the ferry to Garenhold. However, in the sun's warmth that dried the drops of water misting a cool breeze over the ferry, Ferethi remembered his father’s words—the Prince would know of the disinheritance in five days. He immediately jumped to his feet and dove into the river. When on shore he unhitched a horse that towed the ferry and rode back to Walrun. It took him ten hours to reach the vineyard, despite having rode the ferry for a full day. Why anyone ever took the ferry up the river, he would never know. Though, fortunately for him, people did. His original plan gave Ferethi five days to return home, kill his father, and then ride back to the ferry. Five days was plenty of time for that task, but with the need to stop the message, Ferethi would cut it a bit too close for his comfort.

Sneaking into the fort was easy. Sliding the knife over his own father’s throat proved even easier. Ferethi glanced around the room. He always hated his father’s study. He planned to have it dismantled when he came to power over Walrun. The stone prison had no windows, one door, and a hoard of ancient, useless books detailing the histories of wine tastings from the Bastion Vineyard. What was usually a neatly kept room, dusted to perfection, was now splattered with black, viscous blood.

He cleaned the wet knife blade with his father’s jacket and stepped toward the tiny doorway, careful not to disturb the useless, bloody books. The crafty demon never imagined his own son would drag a knife over his neck. Yet, there was no surprise in the eyes of the dead man, only disgust. The same look of disgust that haunted Ferethi since birth.

The door clicked as he left the room and crept up the stairway. There was no use in dwelling on the past, his father could never return from it. Ferethi sheathed his knife and chuckled to himself. His attachment to his family had clouded his judgement. His own father was the last thing standing in his path to freedom. Ferethi was free. Free to rid Walrun of the Faith, something his cowardly father could never do. All in good time, Ferethi thought to himself.

Ferethi found the messenger, his late sister’s son, in a tavern a three-day ride from the vineyard. The poor boy fell ill while traveling through the desert to Garenhold and sought shelter within the tavern. Ferethi approached the young man, whose normally glossy black hair and luminous tan skin—the identifying traits of the Bastion family—looked lackluster.

“Galliard, are you okay? Take this. You look terrible.” Ferethi offered his coat to the young man. He pulled up a chair and sat next to Galliard at the tiny desk in the tavern’s corner room.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, Uncle.” Galliard pulled the coat down and held the sleeves to keep it from sliding off his dainty shoulders.

“I didn’t know you had a job. They’ll trust anyone with messages to the Prince these days, won’t they?” Ferethi said.

“What’s wrong with me taking your father’s messages? He trusted them to me. I can handle a ride to Garenhold, I’ve been traveling there and back on my own for two months now. One more year of this and I’ll be free to marry Miss Mariah.” Galliard took a sip of water from the tankard on the desk.

“Like she’d wait another day for you. You look terrible, what happened to you?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine. I just need to rest for a few hours.”

“Nonsense, I can’t let you travel the rest of the way to Garenhold on your own while you suffer like this. Both Mariah and my mother would kill me for it. And I can’t let you stay here. You need to get to the School of Medicine,” Ferethi said.

“Shouldn’t we go back to Walrun if I need to see a surgeon?”

“That’s over three days from here! You could die of exhaustion before then. No, it’s much too dangerous. Not that Trilani couldn’t do just as fine of a job, Garenhold is much closer and much more relaxing if we take the ferry.”

“I’m fine, Uncle, really. I just need to rest another day and drink some water. I’ll be out the door in no time.”

“It’s okay, I’m headed out there myself. I have business to attend to. We’ll take the road up the river and wait there for the ferry. I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re coming with me. Can you ride?” Ferethi asked.

“I can hold on to the horse, if that’s what you mean. How far is the river?” Galliard pulled the coat from his shoulders and offered it to Ferethi.

“Consider it a gift. You’ll grow into it someday. The river is a one-day ride from here and then a two-day ride on the ferry where you can rest all you want until we get to the city,” Ferethi said. The Bastion family was filled with evil, conniving, and heartless devils—Ferethi counted himself among them—but Galliard was an exception. The boy’s kind heart and empathetic soul made him the gem of the Bastion family. Not a single member of the noble family, nor among the people of Walrun, could help but love young Galliard and his innocence. He strived to do good in all things and left every conversation with a smile. Not even Ferethi could resist loving the young man.

Ferethi packed all of Galliard’s things and offered him a blanket, citing the still feverish look that overcame Galliard’s complexion. Galliard refused, but thanked Ferethi for getting him ready to travel. Despite searching through every fold and crevice in Galliard’s packs, Ferethi found no letter’s or packages. He found nothing to indicate Galliard actually needed to deliver anything. No matter, Ferethi thought, I have plenty of time to sneak the letter away.

The ensuing day-long journey passed with boredom, discomfort, and disappointment. Despite all of Ferethi’s efforts, Galliard gave no opportunity for his uncle to search him. At each turn Galliard kept a close eye on prying hands. Ferethi suspected either Lord Bastion warned the young man of Ferethi, or Galliard read the letter meant for the Prince. Perhaps there was no letter, but a message delivered by word. Ferethi hoped Galliard kept the letter in his breast pocket. There wasn’t much Ferethi wouldn’t sacrifice to succeed in his ambition, but harming Galliard was a line even he wouldn’t cross.

“Do you remember reading of Walrun before she came under the rule of the Empire?” Ferethi turned to Galliard, who sat against a shriveled old tree. The scant shade it provided did little to cool the air and relieve Galliard’s ailment. The poor boy needed to get out of the sun and into Garenhold. Though Ferethi’s intentions were less than noble, he wanted to help his nephew.

“W-What was that uncle?” Galliard slurred his words. His condition had only worsened. Ferethi thought he might have pushed his nephew too far, but he knew letting him stay in that tavern would have been worse. He needed care from the Garenhold School of Medicine, not from some tavern owner’s wife. The message could wait. Getting Galliard well was more important to Walrun’s future than Ferethi’s own self-indulgent ideals. If anyone could rightly rule Walrun after Ferethi, it was Galliard. Ferethi would usurp the power he needed to pave the way for Galliard to bring prosperity and freedom to his people. Before that, however, Galliard needed to know the truth.

“I asked if you know much about Walrun before we entered the Forsey Empire? Do they still teach that at the Officer’s Academy?” Ferethi asked.

“Oh, no, not really.” Galliard struggled to say through a coughing fit. “Though grandfather, I mean Lord Bastion, spoke of it occasionally.” Even in his sickness, Galliard respected the head of his family.

“He never spoke of it truthfully, I’m afraid. It’s easy to only see the good when it’s all you’ve received. But if you talk with the elders of Walrun, the ones who actually remember, they have a much different story than Lord Bastion,” Ferethi said. He looked to Galliard to see if the young man was still conscious. He was.

Galliard stared at Ferethi, struggling to breathe, “What do they say?”

“Walrun used to be free from Forsey, from the Faith. Then the great King Harlov came to us with an offer. Join with the Forsey Empire and convert to the Faith, or be wiped out. My grandfather, Chieftain of the united clans, accepted without a fight. He only wanted peace, and a soft chair to wield the power promised to him by his new King. His family would become nobles and rule over the newly formed province of Walrun. All in the name of peace. Not a single sword was swung in that war. Yet, they still call it a war. As if we resisted. And then, as soon as Walrun came under the wing of the empire, every son of every man was conscripted into King Harlov’s army. They were sent off to an actual war, to die for a king they didn’t even know. For a country as foreign to them as the Northern tribes are to us now. Thousands of our own were killed in that war. All to conquer a people that had the gall to say no,” Ferethi watched Galliard.

“This… Truth, is that why your father banished you?” Galliard said.

“So, you know?” Ferethi said.

“It’s the message I’m to deliver. Not by letter, but by word. Lord Bastion said he found you inciting rebellion against the crown and Faith. Is that true, uncle?” Galliard spoke too much for someone who had such trouble breathing.

“Yes, it is true.”

“But the Empire does us well. The Good Brother has given us so much purpose. I—” Galliard fell into a coughing fit.

“Just shut up, Galliard. You’re going to talk yourself to death. The ferry will be here soon. I did what had to be done in order to set right the wrongs that were committed against our people. My Grandfather didn’t even hold a vote to the council of the clans. He accepted without discussion and let a foreign invader take control of our way of life. Few remember our religion. The Good Brother made sure of that. It only takes a single generation to destroy a culture and a people. We’re now as much a part of Forsey as Whiteguard or the Eve, but there’s still hope left. You have to believe that, Galliard. There is hope for our people. And you’re a part of that hope,” Ferethi said as he watched his nephew slip into a fitful sleep. He kept guard over the young man until the ferry arrived.

After Ferethi and the ferryman, Ferethi’s trusted servant Pocili, loaded Galliard into the shaded cargo hold of the ferry, he dug through the few boxes until he found a trove of handkerchiefs. “Here.” Ferethi handed Galliard the handkerchiefs. “It’s for your eyes. They’re bleeding.”

“Thanks,” Galliard said, taking them and using one to wipe his eyes.

“We’ll be at the Garenhold School of Medicine in two days’ time, they’ll know how to heal you there,” Ferethi said.

“Why didn’t we just ride? It’s only a day’s ride from here. I-I could’ve made it,” Galliard’s breath labored between words.

“No, I don’t think you would’ve. Even one day of riding almost killed you. If we had a carriage and a driver, then we would,” Ferethi said.

“A carriage is no different from the ferry. It’s lazy.”

“Save your breath, Nephew. You’ll need it to deliver your message.”

“Did you know,” Galliard paused to catch his breath and wipe his eyes, “It was me?”

“No, I thought my father used one of his servants.” Ferethi handed Galliard another handful of handkerchiefs.

“He’d just send another,” Galliard said. Unlike some in his family, Ferethi never mistook Galliard’s kindness to mean naivety. His nephew was just as astute as himself, if not more so.

“He can’t,” Ferethi said.

“You killed him?” Galliard said, if he was surprised, Ferethi couldn’t tell.

“It had to be done. For our people. He had yet to reveal my exile to the family. The only other person who knows of it is you.” Ferethi looked his nephew in the eye. He loved the boy. Galliard was the shining light of Walrun, the only bit of hope his family had at redemption. “And soon Prince Sebastian.”

“You don’t have to spare me for my sake,” Galliard said, attempting to sit up straight and meet Ferethi’s eyes.

“And you don’t give me enough credit. I love my people and my country. But I love my family more. You most of all. As soon as I knew it was you that carried the message, I was doomed. Lord Bastion knew I would come for him, perhaps not to kill him, but come for him in some manner. And he knew that if he sent you, I couldn’t stop the message from reaching the Prince. You mean more to this family than I ever will. The Bastion’s will live on as the saviors of Walrun because of you, Galliard. I know it,” Ferethi rested a hand on his nephew’s shoulder.

“You’re only saying that because I might die of some wretched disease, having accomplished nothing but delivering a few messages to the Prince for a crotchety old noble and pining for the girl I love,” Galliard said. He slumped back down on his mat, unable to hold himself up. Drops of blood fell from his ears.

“I mean it, Galliard. You’re all we have,” Ferethi smiled at his nephew. “Now get some rest. We have a long, quiet, and relaxing ride up the river into Garenhold. As soon as we get there, you’ll be taken care of, I promise.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I knew you were better than your father, better than the rest of the family. You’ll do what’s right by our people…” Galliard said as he trailed off into deep sleep.

Ferethi brushed the young man’s hair over his face and whispered to his nephew, “May the Good Brother be with you.” The ferry ride went on just as Ferethi said it would, long, quiet, and relaxing. Galliard died just hours before the ferry reached Garenhold.

End of excerpt.