The Great Divide (Spyridon related)

[Cathie]

The Great Divide
1220

Frost covered the ground making it hard and crisp to walk upon. There they stood, like barriers to each other’s lands, barring the way, in straight lines. Some thousand men all together, between the two armies, faced off without a whispered voice among them. Should one look upon them from afar, there’d be no noticeable difference, save perhaps for their attire, and the colors flown on their flags. This, however, was not the case. They weren’t the same in far more ways than politics and colors.

Cortland Roald III, king of Kinesia, held one of the largest kingdoms on the continent of Gimbal. Spanning from the shores of the Straits of Marheel, up along the borders of both Charlatia and Cygnal, the kingdom was almost shaped like a large star. His brother, who had married the only child, a daughter, of the neighbor to the north was Leland Roald. He and his queen ruled Moavy, which was nearly as impressive in its size, bordering Portel and following the shore of the Great Northern Sea east. The paired kingdoms cut off the Seridian Peninsula from the mainland.

Cortland’s army was comprised of roughly 250 men, and he was joined by his brother, with another 250. Their goal wasn’t to march into battle. This was merely a show of arms. A way to say, don’t do anything stupid. Metal armor, warhorses, archers, lancers, and swordsmen stood at the ready, just in case things came to an impasse that couldn’t be spoken down.

With them came the ideas that their people were important. Their people, if in danger, would be defended. Their people, if hungry, would be fed. They cared, genuinely, for their kingdoms. And their kingdoms were successful because of it. Their opposition was mysterious, dangerous, uncontrolled. They were people who, with the whispered word could set a man on fire. Whose aim with a bow and arrow was unnatural; whose footfalls were silent even in fallen and crisp leaves; who fed from the blood of others; that changed their forms during the full moon and went on berserker rages, killing people. They were dangerous, and they couldn’t be allowed to endanger their people.

Beings that were immortal, living side by side with ordinary, wholesome, non-magical mortals was dangerous. Vampires, for example, were far too strong and killed mortals. Werewolves were chaotic and went berserk, killing all in site. Both could heal when attacked, within minutes. The elves that had once been allied to humans now saw them as a threat, and in most cases, didn’t resist shooting an arrow at a mortal on sight. Their aim was supernatural. Their ability to walk with utter silence was dangerous, as they could appear behind a mortal and slit their throat. These beings all stood with a few random sorcerers, opposing Cortland and Leland.

Amras Helyanwë wasn’t a cruel dictator. He simply wanted equality for his own people. Long silver hair with a sheen to it that was unnatural, his hair seems almost to glow, though it didn’t really. His eyes were amber, and he wore a golden tunic that was more than merely gold in color. He wore a wreath around his head of gold, fashioned into leaves. He looked more like a king than his opposing mortal kings, and he knew it. Despite this sort of arrogance that he carried, his people respected him. His kingdom was Addreyna, though in this time it was known as Helyanwë, a smaller kingdom at the time that spanned around the edges of a large lake. The main city rested on its shore and overlooked the lake. He was a Gray Elf; known to be incredible scholars, Gray Elves preferred a more solitary existence apart from other beings. In this instance, however, he felt the need. The human rulers wanted to prevent entrance into their kingdoms of any non-humans. This would effectively block off the Seridian Peninsula from the mainland.

While being cut off from travel into the mainland wasn’t that big a deal, it was the principle. Mortal humans telling supreme creatures what they can and can’t do...Amras wouldn’t stand for it. Amras stood roughly 5’8” tall with a slender frame. His hair was left free and down, but it hung over his shoulders and down to his waist without being messy or tangling. Merely a year from being 200 years old, he didn’t look a day over 20.

Amras’ eyes settled on the men before him, with their red and brown hair, tucked beneath metal helmets. Roughly cut beards, with slight white or gray peppering them, and wrinkles around their eyes said they were somewhere in their 50’s, too old to be out on the battlefield. Amras knew that he and his men, as well as those who had joined with their cause could easily overtake the two…and their 500.

“King Cortland, King Leland…” he addressed the humans with a soft nod. “We have received your objectives, and I must say…” he paused, “…they are not very civil.” Amras watched as Cortland’s mustache twitched.

“King Amras,” Leland’s accent rolled thickly and when he got to speaking fast, could be difficult to understand. His red hair and beard, and stocky figure were different from his brother’s but in other ways, there was no denying their relation. Cortland had started off angry, so Cortland cut him off. “I understand your concerns. Being unable to cross through the two nations essentially seals you off from traveling further southeast. However, I am sure you noted that we have offered secure passage if we are aware of it, should the need arise. So you see, you’re not really cut off, we just need to know when it’s happening, and where.” Leland hoped this would end it. He hoped it would secure their victory and no blood would need to be shed. He was wrong.

“I will not stand for being called uncivil when it is not we who feed on the blood of others, or rip others to shreds! Why, you ought to feel lucky we’re allowing it at all! You and your kind, and those who follow you are all dangerous!” Cortland exploded in anger, unable to hold back any longer.


(to be continued...)