Emerii had to keep it together. The near-constant use of her deity over the last week had caused her serious nausea, but that now combined with the horrid sight in front of her.

  It was not that she was scared of fire, or that the horrors of war were on display before her eyes. The memories were what haunted her, a plague that cursed her with a cold sweat different from the one a deity produced. That created a weakness, one that she could not afford at the current moment.

  “I’ll search for the leaders,” She said continuing her air of composure. Cold sweat slicked her neck, the putrid sensation cursing her stomach. Attempting to ignore the heat that had been building in her head the last few days, Emerii borrowed the vision of various Drajin in the burning village. Switching to a new person every time she failed to discover her quarry.

  “I still don’t like the plan,” Arty said. “I refuse to be an assassin.”

  Royce sighed. “How many times do we have to go over this? They will die secluded by their own error and arrogance on the battlefield. Taking down the chain of command is the swiftest way to crush an enemy force. I know you haven’t studied much but that is the truth.”

  “Even though truth rings in your words Royce I cannot agree. This will only be a brief solution anyways. Bardoo will reorganize and continue to strike Welkia.”

  “Don’t forget that’s why we are doing this, to stall their raids long enough that we can make it to the capital and create peace.” Royce rubbed his face, then smirked. “You’re always so stubborn Arty. If you must, fight them honorably. I doubt we will be able to sneak a blade into their backs anyhow. Issue your target a challenge, give them your name so you can strike fear into our enemies.”

  Arty seemed appeased enough at that.

  Emerii chuckled at their conversation, then frowned. “I found them,” She interjected. “They are splitting up now after discussing further action. It appears there are some Welkia soldiers still putting up a fight in a neighboring village so their captain is heading that way. Their tactician is staying to clean up matters here and prepare a swift retreat for when they are finished plundering. Their second in command is heading to a different village they have yet to strike.”

  “We each know our job,” Arty said hardening his voice.

  “Yes,” Royce said, “Good luck to you both. I’ll see you at the marked rendezvous point.” His tone was cold, devoid of the aspects that made him who he was. It was like he was resigned, his childlike form running counter to the deadness in his eyes.

  “Don’t forget our promise.”

  Royce jumped, then rubbed his head. “You know I won’t you golden cub. A moment of weakness is just that, a moment. We’ll carry out our duty.” He slightly covered the Royal Guard insignia.

  Emerii met his eye, “Be careful.”

  “I’ll be off then. I have a few preparations to make before I engage. Once again I wish you both good fortune.” A moment of silence, then, “I believe in you.” Royce scurried from the perch back into the darkness of the forest.

  They watched him go, then Arty asked, “Is this the right choice? I can’t help but feel that there was a better plan. Perhaps a trap sprung, or a battle of three versus three instead of our singular conflicts.”

  Emerii shook her head. “We’ve been over the other choices, and this is as good as any with our level of information and ability. Besides, Royce made this plan. He believes we are capable, so let us return that trust in his abilities.”

  “There is so much risk. I wish we had more time.”

  “It is battle Arty. There is always a risk. Always a lack of time. Now is not when you should use that precious resource for your stolid reflection, you had plenty of that on the way to Liofeld.”

  He eyed her, but she held her mask on tightly. “True Emerii. I am the promised one and I will be the Drawalda. I must remind myself of those facts, that I should not have self-doubt. No, I don’t have any doubt. I simply worry for those close to me.” He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself. After a few moments of silence, he chuckled dismissively. “I should head forth now, to show my vision to these mongrels.” He raised his hand to the sky as he walked proudly into the village in the midst of ruin.

  Emerii watched him go, then used her deity to share sight with Royce. He was far enough away. Her shallow smile turned to a grimace. Backing away from her perch she unleashed the contents of her stomach. No matter how much bile she poured out it was not enough to rid herself of her nausea or remove the memories that were ensnaring her.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Water revitalized her as she drank deeply. Shortcomings were best left in the past, as Arty was now demonstrating for her. She could not waver here, her companions believed in her.

  Despite everything weighing her down Emerii pushed off in search of her target, the flames dancing like those close to her so long ago. The screams the singing and the clash of metal the instruments. The bodies on the ground simply failed stunts by performers.

  Yes, even though she did not want it, even though this was not the time for it, reflection came to her unbidden. Emerii walked this graveyard of her memories searching for her prey.

  The tent rustled in the wind. A myriad of colors stretched into the sky, defiant against the storm that wished to cast it down. Children sat huddled in the center, shaking and crying with each roar of thunder. Though Emerii was only five she was not scared, not one bit. When the thunder came again she found herself covering her head. Her older brother was next to her with his hand on her head comforting her. He was only a few years older, but he sat resolute and courageous.

  The rest of her family was nowhere to be seen. They were probably securing the tent and wagons against the storm. Other adults were around, those who had come to see their show before the weather unexpectedly changed. Some were praying and begging for forgiveness, while others comforted their children or helped secure their shelter.

  As time passed the world raged and the night stretched into eternity. More adults finished doing everything they could and found themselves huddled with the others.

  Candles and torches flickered and waned as the mood pressed down hard, especially more for the young children and Emerii. Even her brother was beginning to wane.

  A strum of an instrument she could no longer remember.

  That ethereal sound pierced the storm and the awkward silence of the Drajin. Then her sister’s voice began to sing in harmony with the notes. A classical song about hope, but sung with such skill that it elevated the piece, perfectly accompanied by her father’s skill with the lute. Then her mother came leading the other members of the troupe, all dancing or juggling, balancing on objects, or performing other amusing tasks.

  The children erupted in smiles and laughter, clearing the dark cloud that had hung onto them. The other adults quickly joined the cheering, and then food and drink were distributed liberally.

  They were making merry.

  Spreading joy.

  It was the essence of what they were; merrymakers.

  Her father told stories of the creation of Dradris and of heroism, his words soft but somehow still traveling over the noise. Her mother danced elegantly, her sister hummed to the other children, and even her brother juggled.

  Then before she realized the night had passed along with the storm. The sun shone brightly on their caravan. The people stranded overnight left not with fear or sadness, but with happiness in their hearts. That was who her family was, bringers of happiness.

  In many aspects, the memory of Emerii’s youth with her family was a haze, except for two events. One was the night of the storm where her family comforted the people perfectly, and the other was the day they were separated forever. Otherwise, like any old memories, only brief moments stood out, or times when she could not even remember the faces of those she once loved.

  How many Kingdoms had she visited? Even she could not truly say, though she could recall her father boasting that he had visited every surviving Dradris Kingdom. There was a moment she could recall seeing a distinct people unlike Drajin or Uxsons, which meant that she had visited the Territories at some point.

  “I’m scared, but don’t tell Mom and Dad,” She could remember her older sister confiding that to her. A voice so sweet she could listen to her talk about anything.

  Playing with her older brother in the field outside of Liofeld, his visage a blur, but the loving and playful words clear in her mind. Always the first to defend her from stray animals and insects.

  “Yes, just like that dear,” Her mother had said. “I think you have a talent for dance. We are blessed by God to be given such talented children.” Though she praised them that skill was undoubtedly inherited from her gracefulness.

  Emerii twirled the ribbon in her hand, then spun on her toes as her mother clapped. This was another time when she could not place her family’s faces, but she remembered the praise clearly. A new dream sprung forth, one where she danced for every king in Dradris as the most talented merrymaker.

  She could not perform other skills yet, though her father was patiently teaching her little by little, gentle words of encouragement always following. She could remember he was always the kindest.

  There was an especially pleasant meal she had in her mind, a day when plans had gone awry and the rest of the troupe seemed dour. However her family pulled together a simple meal that everyone ate together, and that was all it took to reverse the mood. Merrymakers without smiles were not worthy of the name.

  Little characteristics she tried to hold in her mind, attempting to not reduce her family to only their final moments. If she was gone she would not want Royce and Arty to remember her only at her death. If possible she would be remembered at her bravest, or her kindest.

  When her brother beat back the feral dog in the woods that attacked them when they ranged too far from camp. When he gave her his sweets instead of eating them himself and patted her head.

  Her sister when she told those rude soldiers off. When she would sing to Emerii.

  Her mother when she reined in her father. Her compliments that had filled Emerii’s head with dreams.

  Her father as he helped others without asking for anything in return. When he would let her ride on his shoulders.

  All fragments, born of a short period spent with them. A fog of memories that resulted in little to nothing. Even the various landscapes had faded away except for that night which tormented her so. Pointless, fleeting feelings that she held tightly to, trying not to lose the memory of the people only she remembered. But just like anything in her life it was ephemeral and could only be held for so long before truth and time moved onward to the night of flames and nightmares.