The Purge of Coamenel
Eylinn rode up the hill to get a clearer view, holding her scarf hard pressed against her nose and mouth. The stench from the pyres was terrible, a mixture of sweet and acrid. She looked down from whence she came. The smoke from the village cast shadows on the enclosing farmland. A gale from the shore carried it over the whole scenery. The sky painted red in the sunset. The Archmage’s words still haunted her. She was lost.
They were just in time to stop the last group of infected heading east. It was a close call. She turned around her horse and looked over the plains of Mirrorwater. Her face was dead of emotions bar a set of two tired eyes, but in her chest... A looming chaos. A struggle. A war. It hurt, despite her Light feeling stronger and clearer with the necromancer now dead. She had felt the pulse of magic half across the continent, and it affected her still. First, it had been euphoria. Then, it turned into melancholy. It drove her to steel herself, harden.
She had led in every front of their raids. Sending arrows from her horse, and then launched at the Corpus with her blade on foot. It was a violent flourish and grim spectacle, but in those moments, her head was clear and heart at rest. It was divine, such calm, and then when the fight was done, there was such pain. She had led her party furiously, seeking out any fight with gruesome efficiency. Track, lure, hit, burn. Everything to dampen and rid herself of the pain, and it always returned, twice as hard in magnitude. Killing the innocent sick to save even more innocent. She had wanted to create an acronym for their tactics, but couldn’t come up with one that sat well with the tongue.
She turned her head towards the shore. A ship of Nordic design was cruising some way out at sea. “Slavers...” They’ve had to block at least two parties from disembarking the past week. They had not needed to fight them. A few shouts and some rattling swords was enough to scare them off. She wondered if these ones were among those two, or if it was another group, with a full cargo of fresh bodies to sell at the markets. Her eyes narrowed.
“Mistress,” Alvon rode up to her. “We received confirmation that the Golden Army defeated the necromancer.” Eylinn kept her eyes on the slave ship and said nothing. It was no news to her. He obviously hadn’t believed her when she told him about it. It made her even angrier with him. “The armies are returning home. We should head back to the Chasm to greet our own troops.” She would not reply, sticking to focusing on the ship as it headed farther east. She squeezed the scarf harder around the nose, as if to block out the stench from the men aboard as well. She wondered if slaves were allowed to bathe. At least once a day. Or was that too much to ask? It was cold up here in the North. The gale crawled into what little skin she had yet to cover. A hot bath would have been nice. Or the fire she felt in battle, even more so. “We should head back home.” She looked at him for a short moment before turning it to the water, dyed orange by the setting sun.
“We will meet them in Berandreil. From there we can finish the purge of Galadriel.” She moved her other hand up the scabbard, trying to feel it through the glove’s fabrics. “Then we can ride into Highathar and help the dwarves clear out their lands as well.” She was done talking. Couldn’t he tell?
“There are matters at court at hand. The assembly will resume soon. We must return home.” Her eyes darkened and she stared at him, a fiery poison ready to infect him. “The rest of the continent can clear their own lands now.” He was still here.
“You know what?” She dropped the scarf, revealing her face to him. Lower half, without a hint of any expression. The upper half, lethal. “You can head to the Golden City. Bring twenty five chests of gold and install our ambassador in a properly comfortable manor. He will be using it a lot. Because I’m not going back there.” Alvon looked at her with his usual neutral. He was still not leaving. What now?
“What about actual ruling? Are you going to leave your people leaderless? We must go home.” She could feel her blood boiling. Enough was...
“Enough! I’ve had it! Enough!” She yelled so loud that even her horse became unsettled. She panted. “Why do I insist on keeping you with me when all you do is questioning everything I say?” The whole campaign was finally catching up with her, wrecking in like a tidal wave, destroying every single obstacle in its path. True, unadulterated fury. Her flame turned into an inferno. “You spit out all this about a descendent of Barumin leading the Green Chasm, and yet you...” She pointed at him. “...you, still insist on pointing out all my faults and failures!” She pointed into the distance. “You will go to the Golden City, and you will not talk to me again before I fucking allow you to! Have I made myself clear, or do I have to etch it into your eyelids with a knife before you get the hint?!” Alvon stood still, revealing no emotions or interest in leaving. “Go!”
“This again? Do I need to push you down on your back every time you need to get to your senses?” She winced. Her face drained of rage. She looked upon him with distrust and disgust. It stung like a hot iron thrust against her flesh. It turned quiet, but for the crackle of pyres and hissing in the wind. He had hit the sore spot, again, with utmost accuracy. She lowered her head.
“Yeah, about that...” Her eyes clouded with tears. Sniffed, disregarding the foul stench in the air. Just this once. She looked at him. Tired, she was so tired. A drop fell down her cheek but she spoke clean. “Everytime I look at you, my mind just get warped.” It descended down towards her jaw, leaving a moist, salty trail. “My chest feels tight, my respiration, difficult.” She felt it’s every inch as it travelled her skin down her blushed neck, jumping over every vein protruding due to her upset condition. “I want to throw up. Just hoping it would rid me of the terrible feelings I get when you’re around.” It disappeared into the fabric of her shirt.
“Fine, I’ll go to the capitol.”
“No!” She sobbed. “You don’t get it! I want you gone!” He gave her a grave look; he didn’t seem to understand where this was going. Why was he making it so hard? “I banish you! I banish from the Chasm! I banish you from my presence! I never want to see you again!” She was shaking, unable to control herself anymore. “You betrayed me! Not for gold, not for fame, not for ambition! You betrayed my trust! I trusted you! Completely and without hesitation. I looked up to you, cared for you, thought you cared for me, but it isn’t so, is it?” Her mouth trembled and she looked as if cornered unarmed by a wild beast. “Was it good for you? Forcing me down? Leave me helpless, begging for my life? Was it throbbing? Eager to enter me? Why didn’t you? You could have had me right there.”
“Enough of this nonsense. That isn’t even remotely true in any way.”
“Fuck you! I’m not blind! To the void with you! I don’t bloody give a damn! You violated me, degraded me!” It was a good thing they were alone. It was no pretty words escaping the young maiden’s lips. “You made me feel small. I thought you wanted to be supportive, and I even tricked myself into thinking that for a long time. But nothing, not a fibre in my body says this is true. Go, and never return, ever again.” Alvon looked at her with stern eyes, and it frightened her more. There was no one in an ear or eye’s distance close enough to stop him from forcing her. But it was about time she became brave. He pulled his sword, confirming her suspicions. Her gruesome and degrading end was at hand.
“Alright.” He pointed his sword toward himself and raised it, ready to strike his abdomen.
“Stop! What are you doing?!”
“I swore to be your tutor until your, or my, last day. If it’s to be terminated, I will have to terminate myself.” She reached through the air in a gesture for him to lower his arms.
“Enough! I command you! Sheathe your sword!” He looked at her, with the exact same expression as before. Nothing, nothing at all there to find. “Go to the Golden City! Stand for me at the assembly. I...” She tried to swallow, but it felt tight. “I’ll send my words after you.” He lowered his blade into the scabbard. “Just go!” He took off.
As he went out of sight, the tidal wave returned, but it did something different. She enveloped into true, unadulterated sorrow. She wept hard and loud, leaning forward into her horse’s mane. She fell off and switched into a fetal position on the ground. Recent events had encumbered her to the brink of madness without the need of any infection. Her soul clamoured for some rest, but it just never would seem to come. Her untold past was intent on not letting go. But at the same time, as she cried without remorse on the ground, it was also a wave of cleansing, to rid herself of the horrors of her first quest, her first time of rule, maybe even some of her memories. Just maybe.
It took almost an hour, but she finally put the lid back on and returned to her party. A courier had come bringing message that most of the men was returning home, but it didn’t change her determination. At first break of light, her combined forces returned on their way to the Chasm to rally with the rest of its army coming home from the west, and continue south to purge the last Corpus from Galadriel. The northern campaign had been a success, and with combined help from the realm, and Eylinn’s strategic prowess, barely a dozen men had fell in the purge of the woods.