The Slime Farmer

Chapter 59: The Missing Caravans 12

Zises Toren was beautiful.

Her pale rose-colored hair was secured in delicate braids, her skin glowed pale as moonlight despite her days under sun, her eyes were as clear and deep a gold as early sunset over the snowy reaches.

She was clad in red and black armor, the sigil of the Gamber Blades standing out starkly against the red of her shoulderguards.

Even so near to death, there was no hint of regret in her posture, no fear or anger. She leaning against a boulder, her sword just seconds earlier stabbed into the ground to help her balance. Even without discounting the blood dripping down her armor, the dark red rivulets staining the stone she was leaning on, she looked like a heroic painting, the valkyrie thrown into so many wars that neither defeat nor victory could move her.

The echoes of battle, magnified by the many cliffs and ravines, were winding down. In this place, there were only three of them.

Natan sat against a rock not far away, slowly pacing his breathing, unable to move more than a hand.

Andar il Vons was the only one of them standing on his own, and even then much of his weight was supported by the halberd he grasped tightly in one hand.

They all had their thoughts.

In such a small place to the side of a battlefield, there was a multitude of silences, delicate and precious. Andar broke them mercilessly with a single word.

"Why?"

The conflict did not have to come to this, this bloody and unexpected battle. Even a green recruit could see that she had pushed the path of what would have been a minor skirmish to greater violence.

Why do it near the Indar trade road, which was regularly patrolled by military and town guards?

It was senseless.

Clear amber eyes turned to study the speaker, no curiosity, merely a re-cataloguing of characteristics that made up the person of Andar il Vons. Her eyes lingered on his face.

Then her gaze went to the single imperial stellarius on his collar, made with real gold.

"You are a major of the imperial army. You would ask why?" Her voice was calm and quiet, melodic with a slight rasp. Even then, there was little indication that she was interested in the answer.

Andar frowned. "You have a grievance with the imperial army?"

"Perhaps. There are two people your age with the rank of major in the province of Havare. I wonder which one you are."

Nonplussed, he rapped out the practiced spiel. "Major Andar il Vons of the 2nd battalion, 5th regiment of the 16th Division, Eastern Jebrimean Army." Then annoyed that he did so, added, "What of it?"

"Ah." Her eyes returned to his face. "As I thought. Ful's little treasure."

Even taken aback, he answered. "Fulgeren il Vons was indeed my brother. I was not aware you knew each other so well. His stories painted you a distant figure."

She straightened, took a step toward him.

Natan made a noise, almost a stifled hiss, a single grim sound of warning.

Zises did not look in the direction of the downed man, only continued toward the major. She stopped less than an armslength away. "Promoted on the battlefield?"

"I am not here to exchange pleasantries like a gossiping aunt over teacakes."

Another empty smile touched her features. "So much like..."

Her pose faltered.

Instinctively, Andar il Vons put out his hands to steady her.

She did not care, appeared to be thinking of things far away. "Do you know, little treasure, once you get an imperial stellarium your life is given entirely to the empire?"

"Of course."

"Empires have no care for the heart of a person."

She slumped forward slowly, until her forehead fell on Andar's collarbone. For the first time, some emotion colored her voice. "Why?"

Andar was silent, frowning.

"Why did you have to join the military?"

With those last words, her body succumbed to bloodloss and the fatal wound dealt by Andar's halberd.

Andar caught her, weight sending him to his knees.

He reached for her wrist, to feel nothing, even the vital point at her wrist was drained.

There was a suffocated feeling in his chest, looming up through his throat.

Zises Toren was dead.

For some reason, for some infinitely unrational reason, it seemed almost like he'd lost his brother again.

Andar il Vons lowered his head and wept.

Natan glanced at the figure in the shadow of a rock pillar. In the red light of the setting sun, the shadows were dark and deep.

Defi met his eyes, inclined his head, and slipped away.

Natan sighed, looked up at the sky, and closed his eyes.