Chapter 52 Aylah
AYLAH
A ylah stood at the rocky ledge overlooking the distant city of Racliffe. They were near the bottom third of the Sapphire Mountains, which formed a barrier against the west, on a secluded stretch of flat rock marked by a stubborn, scraggly red oak.
“This is it,” she said. The last three decades lay heavy upon her shoulders. “There is no turning back now.”
Faron joined her, standing at her side, an enormous sword and shield strapped to his back. He wore a horned helmet, and his armor was more fur than metal. Barron the Wild Rage, the people called him, hero of the Crowning uprising.
“There was never a time to turn back,” her brother said, and shook his head. “Only Sariel could have stopped this, and not once has he shown a sign of regret. This must be done, the damned fool.”
“He is no fool,” Eist said. The most enigmatic of their siblings stood near the path that led to the rocky ledge.
They wore a brilliant gold robe and wielded a thick staff carved to resemble a curling snake.
Eist had led the rebellion along the conquered reaches of Orlea across the south.
Known only as the Prophet, they had used their mastery of radiance to overthrow their regent and declare a holy war against Sariel.
Eist’s head was perfectly shaven, and a myriad of runes that meant nothing were tattooed across their forehead.
Most of their followers worshiped the goddess, Leliel, and Eist was careful to never alienate those who clung to those beliefs.
“How else would you describe him?” Aylah asked.
A smirk marred Eist’s otherwise beautiful face. “Ignorant.”
Aylah did not agree, but she rarely did see things as Eist did. Instead, she saw Sariel as a tyrant and a butcher. When Eder vanished, the brutality of Sariel’s cleansing laws had increased tenfold. The Anaon Kingdom. What a miserable creation her brother had birthed.
“I don’t care what he is,” Calluna said, sitting on the cliff’s edge with her legs dangling.
Her long hair was tied in a ponytail that hung far past her feet to sway through the air.
She wore a flimsy black dress laced with gold, and its center was cut with a sharp V that exposed much of her chest. She had not fomented her own rebellion, but instead allied with Faron during his.
Luna the Banshee was her chosen moniker.
She gestured to Racliffe, rattling the dozens of silver bracelets on her slender arm.
“I just want to know where Eder is. I want to know that he is safe.”
Aylah clenched her teeth to hold back her frustration.
Thirty years ago, Eder had vanished, and his province of Angloss had been brutally scoured of any and all remnants of the church he sought to build.
Though Calluna could find him when she scried, confirming he was somewhere alive, she saw only pitch-black darkness.
Whatever water she peered from was so far away she could not hear him if he ever responded.
When asked, Sariel refused to answer a word about his missing brother.
“His guilt is unquestionable,” Aylah said. “And at this point, there is nowhere else Eder might be. He is imprisoned somewhere in the Tower Majestic. We will find him, and free him.”
“Assuming we break the walls and take the city,” Faron said. He grinned to show how certain he was of that prospect.
“With Barron the Wild Rage leading my charge, how could we ever fail?” Aylah asked. “Stay strong, my kin. The work of these long years shall finally come to fruition.”
“And what a bitter fruit it is,” Eist said.
Aylah placed her helmet atop her head, closed her eyes, and braced herself for what must come next.
The people need your confidence , she told herself. They need your rage. Give them both, so they hold no room to doubt.
Aylah paused to dip her head in respect to her sibling Eist, and then continued down the path.
It wound along the eastern edge of the ridge before sharply descending toward Nature’s Path, which knifed through the mountains.
The Twin Gates had long ago crumbled before their combined might.
From there, they traversed the road, enduring the occasional ambush, until nearing its end.
Beyond awaited miles of yellow fields, and then Racliffe, the White City. Above it, rising from the sea itself, loomed the Tower Majestic.
Her sword drawn and her golden platemail shining in the midday sun, Aylah stepped out from a side path onto a jut of rock that overlooked the combined might of three rebellions.
Seven thousand swordsmen from the kingdoms across the Crowning, along with another two thousand trained in axes.
A thousand archers from Vendom. A thousand more from Sovoth.
Five thousand spearmen from Orlea. Four thousand skirmishers, and five hundred mounted knights, brought from Windshew and deeply loyal to Aylah.
They were a little over twenty thousand in total, come to see the city of Racliffe burn.
And leading them all, the acknowledged champion of what was known as the Rebellion of the Broken, was Aylah herself.
She raised her sword as she bellowed out to the armies, her voice carrying over a mile with the blessing of radiance.
She was Seraphine the Crownbreaker, and all would remember her words.
“My soldiers, my fighters, my friends,” she cried. “The way is clear! The White City awaits, and within it, the swords of the enemy. Within, they cower. Within, they fear our rage, and our justice. Will you give it to them, my brethren? Will you defy the will of the Heartless King?”
Twenty thousand cheers answered her, a thunderous wave that shook the mountains.
Soldiers stomped their feet, and others slammed their swords and axes against their shields.
Aylah readied her own shield, her armaments raised high.
Behind her, the Banshee, the Prophet, and the Wild Rage joined her upon the rocky overhang.
They were the Four Heroes, and the sight of them together heightened the people’s cries.
For thirty years, Sariel had brutally enforced his cleansing laws, with both blade and tainted radiance in the hands of his most ardent believers.
He had broken the Unity of Leliel in Racliffe, burning the temple to the ground.
The goddess was declared heretical, her priests banished to the wild, and her followers threatened with death if they did not abandon their beliefs.
Butchery followed. The cleansing laws grew ever more gruesome, until the crimes committed were so great that Aylah had gathered her siblings and declared that enough was enough.
Thirty years. At long last, justice had come.
“Then march with me, free people of Kaus,” Aylah roared. “For I am the Crownbreaker, and come Racliffe’s fall, I will prove the truth of my name!”