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Ch. 9: Feanias II: Alive But Broken

  Feanias sat with Lyial and Simmeon, fidgeting with his weapons, not really paying attention to the affairs of the other two. The group sat around a small fire contained in an ancient stone house, for upon a tall hill stood a stone manor which somehow withstood the tests of time, and they sought refuge there. They had to spend at least half an hour cutting away moss and other plantlife to make a fire safely, but they didn’t dare light a fire in the open, so cut away it was in this roofless room. Feanias was busying himself cleaning the rifling of his carbine as Lyial and Simmeon shockingly made small talk, having apparently become more amicable over something of which Feanias knew naught. He cared little regardless, the day had been far too turbulent to find the energy for something so trivial.

  “And what of you, Feanias?” Simmeon had asked, dragging a whetstone down his sabre, eliciting a sharp noise. Feanias looked up quickly from where he had been staring at the fire, realizing he did not know what he had been asked.

  “Beg your pardon, my lord?” The young man asked politely. Lyial looked at him sympathetically, as it was known he was the youngest and least hardened of the men, as far as death was concerned.

  “What’ll you be drinking first when we get back?” Simmeon reiterated with a rare lack of edge in the drillmaster’s tone. Feanias thought for a moment, lost in a memory, and sighed longingly.

  “When I was, I suppose but fourteen, my older sister and I stole a casket of the finest red from across the Green Sea, the jewel of my fathers collection…” He began, lost in a fond memory, “I think I’d like to have that again.” Feanias said with a nostalgic smile.

  Simmeon’s eyes widened slightly, a grin as rare as it was faint on his face. “Callestian Wine? At only fourteen? Your taste must have been spoiled from an early age, for truly, nothing tastes as good.” Simmeon replied. “Your father must have been quite the man to afford that, twice so that it was poorly enough protected that you could pilfer it.” Simmeon remarked with a smile.

  Feanias laughed lightly. “You could say that, I suppose. My father is - or was, rather…” He corrected with regret, “- the lord of Shambler’s Rocks.” Feanias explained, and understanding dawned across the faces of the two men.

  “You mean the Pirate King was your father?” Lyial asked in shock. Simmeon chuckled softly, suddenly understanding.

  Feanias nodded his head lightly and with a reminiscent grin said “He preferred the term privateer.” He paused, recollecting. “He was long retired by the time I was born, already in his late fifth decade. Not beating me half to death was my birthday gift that year.” Feanias recounted as a small grin tugged at his lips. “Things aren’t so prosperous anymore, thankfully enough for our neighbours, I suppose. The Ancient forbade my Lord Father from continuing his legacy after he swore fealty to Him, and my Lord Brother holds that same oath.” Feanias added.

  Feanias sighed longingly. “But it is not wine that I miss, brothers.” He said truly. “Back home, there’s this lass named Kylie, I’m rather sweet on her… I promised her that, on my return, we’d marry.” He said, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips, turning slowly to a frown. “It’s been… what, four years now on the campaign? She’s likely married long ago.” Feanias remarked, not hiding his bitterness well.

  Lyial gave the lad another sympathetic smile. “Unlikely, brother. I was sired by a traveling merchant, my mother one of his lovers. I asked her, ‘mother, why do you wait for him still?’, and do you know what she said?” Lyial said in an uncharacteristically soft tone to the younger man. “Distance makes the heart grow fond. The longer he was away, the more she loved him.” He said. Feanias looked over at Simmeon, and saw the conjuror absentmindedly fidgeting with a band on his ring finger.

  “You’re spoken for, my lord?” Feanias asked Simmeon, grateful for Lyial’s words but unsure how to reply. Simmeon smiled, but it was a sad smile.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The conjuror shook his head. “At one time, I was.” He replied cryptically.

  Feanias opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a quick succession of footfalls headed their way. Reiner burst into the room. Breathless, “He’s awake.” the man quickly spit out.

  And so the four of them made haste to the room where Reman lay, hardly alive. David was still hovering over him, working overtime - already having drained three Channellers - to revive the man from the brink of death. He had been torn to shreds when they found him, only barely breathing and having lost more blood than one could believe possible. Simmeon had offered to help heal the man, but quickly discovered his authority over all things dead did not transfer well to the healing of the living.

  Reman sat against the wall, propped up against a bed roll. Breathing heavily, more heaving than breathing. It sounded pained and hollow, but it was a better state than the one they found him in. Feanias pushed in, tears pricking at his eyes when he made eye contact with Reman and saw a small smile tug at his cracked lips. He knelt next to his brother and rested his hand on Reman’s shoulder, “You look like shit.” Feanias said in a quiet but happy voice, finding some solace in his friend not being dead. Reman laughed, and his laugh devolved into a coughing fit which caused him to cough up a bit of blood into his elbow.

  “Still would outwork you… on a night out.” Reman replied in a scratchy and hoarse voice, coughing before he could say more. Feanias laughed and nodded his head. Reman looked at him with kind eyes, those sparkling blue eyes still having an unconquered mirth beneath his now matted and bloody brown hair. His smile was different, though, and Feanias quickly realized it was because he was now missing teeth.

  “Is that right? Once we get back to civili-” The young man began to reply, before being cut off as David shushed both of them sharply.

  “As you can tell, I’m not finished.” The young lord said sharply, impatient and tired.

  Reman let out a raspy laugh again. “The bastard… lording me around… maybe I did… go to hell…” Reman struggled to say before letting out another bloody cough. As stressed as David was, it did bring a small smile to his face.

  “You never did know when to stay quiet.” David responded in a tense but still happy my friend isn’t dead tone. Reman looked around quickly, at least, as quick as he could.

  “If you’re… the only mender… where’s Luka?” Reman asked in a pained voice, struggling to breathe as, while his ribs had been healed, the damage to his lungs was beyond David’s skill. Feanias heard a lot in that question, doubt, pain, worry, yet it sounded as if he already knew the answer to his own question.

  Feanias frowned, but before he could open his mouth to gently inform his friend of Luka’s passing, Reiner spoke. “Dead. Found him at your side, in fact. Want to tell us about that?” Reiner said in his cold and inquisitive tone. Feanias frowned, and stood between Reiner and Reman.

  “Tact.” Feanias said, “Mean a damn thing to you?” He asked in an annoyed tone. Reiner pulled his lips tight and closed in on Feanias, towering over him and barely a hair from him.

  “You forget yourself, lieutenant.” He hissed, his icy blue eyes starring daggers. Reiner grabbed Feanias by the shoulder before he could reply and literally threw him out of the way, sending Feanias stumbling where he hardly caught himself. He caught himself on the wall and turned around, hand on his flintlock, but Simmeon grabbed his arm and shot him daggers with his own dark eyes. It mattered little, as Reman finally replied.

  Reman looked devastated for a moment but lightly shook his head, trying to push the feelings down. “Dumb bastard… never did know… when to quit…” he said sadly. What did that mean? No one knew. He coughed again and took a minute to suck back more air. He weakly pointed a finger at Reiner, wearing a wide and toothy smile all the while. “Colonel… sent Luka and I… to make another pass at… Operation Fell-God. Want to… tell us… about that?” Reman replied sardonically, a mean grin on his face. Operation what? Feanias thought to himself.

  If Feanias would have blinked, he would have missed the worry on Reiner’s face. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He said flatly. The other men looked around at eachother, confused and not convinced, but Reman held Reiner’s gaze sternly.

  “No…? Well, Lance… does… or did. In fact… the operation… was… well, not quite a failure..” He claimed in a haunted voice with another cough. “After all… it was he… who did this to me.”

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