Marian L. Thorpe - Oraiáphon: A Novella of the Empire

The events of Oraiphon begin almost immediately after the Battle of the Taiva, the penultimate scene of Empires Exile. I hope it will please readers who asked for more of this part of the story, and provide context to the central conflicts of Empires Reckoning, the next book in the series.

Oraiphon is pronounced or eye ah phon, the emphasis on the second syllable. In this world, we know the same mythological character as Orpheus.

Orpheus with his lute made trees,

And the mountain tops that freeze,

Bow themselves when he did sing:

To his music plants and flowers

Ever sprung; as sun and showers

There had made a lasting spring.

Every thing that heard him play,

Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads, and then lay by.

Shakespeare; Henry VIII

THE SCOUTS REPORT NO Marai within Linrathe, the soldier said. There are still skirmishes along the Sterre, but those are diminishing, and appear to be mostly defiance and bluster, Teannasg.

Thank you, Ruar said, dismissing him. Teannasg, they called him, young leader, after his calm and thoughtful leadership during the fighting against the Marai. Hard to believe, I mused, that he was not yet fourteen. Donnalch had taught him well.

His regent, his great-uncle Liam, grunted. You need to ride north, Ruar. Be seen by your people, he said.

Ruar turned to me. Will you accompany me, Lord Sorley?

I should. This was my country's leader asking me. He hadnt been formally recognized as Teannasach, but there was little doubt that would happen. The Marai were in retreat, so we must have won, but the rumours from the Empire were confused and contradictory; nothing official had reached us yet, here in the camp hidden among the hills and valleys of Linrathe. Almost everyone I loved was somewhere in the Empire, and I did not know if they were safe.

You do not need me, Ruar, I prevaricated. I cannot even play for you, just now. I had taken a sword wound to my left arm; nothing serious, and already healing, but it did prevent me from holding a ladhar comfortably.

But you are my friend, Sorley, he protested. His great-uncle scowled. The Rasair did not approve of me, although he had grudgingly praised my efforts in bringing Ruar north, and in the fighting. Talk of my choice of men as my bedmates had reached Liam's ears, I assumed. I wondered, sometimes, if it was one of the reasons my father had supported the Marai, knowing we would be on opposite sides, and ensuring our family's lands went to my younger brother Roghan, and not to his channdarra oldest.

Distant shouts reached my ears. I looked up, frowning, just as the tent flaps parted and a soldier entered. My pardon, Teannasg, he said, but there is a rider come from the south, looking for the Lord Sorley. He has dark skin, and speaks no Linrathan, nor much of the Empire's tongue. He is very agitated.

Druisius? Fear rose. Excuse me, Ruar, I said, following the soldier toward the perimeter of the camp. I saw Druisius with the guard, pacing impatiently, and broke into a run. Druise! I shouted. What has happened?

Cillian, he called. He is badly wounded. Lena needs you. Why are you still here, Sorley? Did not the messenger sent from the Taiva reach you?

Cillian. He should have been safe. If he was wounded No messenger, I said. What of the Emperor? I'd reached Druise now.

The Emperor Callan is dead, Druise said, frowning at the bandage on my arm. Traitors, within his own army. Cillian would be dead too, except the Emperor blocked some arrows with his own body. But not all. Come, Sorley. There is no time to waste. You are hurt?

Just a cut, I answered. But what happened? A twisting, inside: I'd liked Callan.

I will tell you as we ride, he said. Gnaius says he will die from infection. Lena will not sleep, barely eats, will not leave him. She is making herself ill.

Dear gods, I said. Cillian, dying? No, my mind said. No. She is pregnant, Druise.

He swore. She will lose the baby, he said bluntly. We must ride, Sorley.

Find us fresh horses, I told the guard. Now. And food and water, enough to get us to the Wall. Ten minutes. Druise, come with me. I must tell Ruar what has happened.

Fifteen minutes later we were riding south, at speed. Ruar had given me leave, immediately. As I turned to go, he stopped me, a hand on my arm. Lord Sorley, he said, his young face serious. I swear to you I will do all I can to regain Sorham and your lands. Believe me in this. I will right the wrong my uncle did.

I didn't really care, at this moment, but a response was needed. I do believe you, Ruar, I said. I wish you success.

There may be a place for you in that fight, some day, he replied.

If I can be of use, I will be, I said, rote words. My mind was not in this wind-shaken tent, but long hours south and west, at Wall's End. I would have said almost anything to speed my leaving.

Druisius shouted the story at me as we rode: Kebhan's treachery, the Lestian archers within the Empire's army swayed by his promises, the betrayal of the drum codes to the Marai. Lena killed Fritjof, he told me. Her arrow, in his neck. Junia had killed his son, minutes before. It was all that saved us, those two deaths.

Is Cillian really dying? I asked. I could not bring myself to believe it.

He is not in this world, and his skin burns to the touch, Druise answered. Gnaius says only the gods can save him.

Cold fear battled with dull resignation for the rest of the long ride. We switched horses at the first guard post we reached on the Wall, and twice or three times again. I half-slept in the saddle, once we were on the road that paralleled the Wall, rousing only when my horse slowed.

We rode into Wall's End not long after dawn. I slid off my horse, my injured arm aching. I could barely stand. I realized that Druisius must be in agony: he was a foot-soldier, not cavalry, but he had been riding at speed for over three days.

I turned to Druise. Go, he said.

Where?

The sick rooms. I turned to the guard who had opened the gate.

Where? I asked again. He pointed, explaining. I tried to run, forcing my legs to move.