Leaving Paradise by Christopher Pastrana (new ebook reader .TXT) 📕

been hoping to knock the man out, not make more commotion. The sound of more horses began filling the night. It would be impossible to know how many bandits had attacked the caravan but it would have needed to be a significant number to have been this successful. In a split moment decision Reinhardt slammed his sword back into place and turned to retreat into the woods.

            Movement from the shadows caught his attention as the loud snap of bow strings echoed through the trees. More on reflex than thought he spin, putting the large blade of his sword between him and the quickly approaching arrows. The impacts on his back hurt, even with the improvised shield taking most of the force. Reinhardt took a guess that they were using Icilee longbows. The quality of the bows this iced over country could produce astounded most of the world, and those bows in particular fetched a heavy price during arms trades.

            Horses rounded the burning carriage in number Reinhardt hadn't expected, nearly thirty by his quick count. With a burst of speed he drew his sword out once more, the massive blade blurring as it spun to life. An eerily deep swoosh caused a couple of the horses to balk, sending their riders to the ground. This time no screams could be heard, these few not being inexperienced enough to brace themselves, rolling from the fall instead.

            The foremost rider raised his hand into the air, halting his men where they were. Heavy breathing from around the group told Reinhardt that many were exhausted, cutting down unarmed civilians tended to do that to you. Meeting the eyes of the man he realized that he was also Icilean. His hair and skin was not nearly as dark as those that rode alongside him, but he was almost certainly from Icilee. Those of higher birth, or nobility often did not have the traditional darker skin of those who were forced to work the in the fields as hands or farmers.

            “Sheath your sword!” He commanded. The man’s accent was heavy mixed with that of the Duzee people. This soldier would most likely have lived near the border of the two countries for most of his life. His clothing looked to be softer and more eloquent then those of his peers.

            “I will not.” Reinhardt placed the handle of his sword into both of his hands and readied himself. There was a thick silence resting over everyone. Nobody looked ready to initiate the attack, not knowing what each other could do. Reinhardt was at a slight advantage here. Any arrows fired from behind could miss him and hit the riders in front, limiting the shots the archers could take. At the distance they now stood the horses would not be able to build enough speed to make use of their size. From where he stood he could reach them in only a few steps and the size of his blade would make short work of those close by.

            With some hesitation the lead rider re-sheathed his sword, the others following his example. From the wood line men began to emerge, bows lowered. Some of the tension had been relieved but the archers didn't drop their arrows, nor did the riders take their hands from the hilts of their weapons. Reinhardt placed the large black sword into its place on his back and waited.

            “I am Isolde of the third house, second tier, who are you?” The man was nobility, but a lower class than many others. In Icilee houses were ranked based upon how wealthy they were. If the house was considered of the first, it was considerably powerful. This classification came to those who, in addition to having almost limitless wealth, had a direct line of elementalists within it. Typically this meant that the head of the house, and his heirs, were able to control ice. A house of the third would be in direct control of a province but lacked any elementalists, and did not have the length of time needed to be considered first or second.

            Tiers worked slightly differently than houses, but were far simpler. First tier family members had direct claim to the house upon passing of the current patriarch or matriarch. Second tier members would never, regardless of occurring deaths, be able to hold the legal title as head of the family. They would only be allowed to hold the position until a new heir was old enough to take charge. This man was powerful in the eyes of commoners but was lesser than other nobles. His being in the field working alongside lesser Icileans made sense now

            “My name is Reinhardt.”

            “What house are you from Reinhardt?” The lack of a better explanation annoyed the man that much was clear on his face. Reinhardt was not nobility; he didn't even qualify for a house classification, let alone a tier. He had been nothing but a farmer, considered lower than horses.

            “I have no house.”

            “You are equipped similar to a soldier of nobility. That sword alone must be worth more than several horses.” Isolde didn't understand what Reinhardt was saying, but that was fine, he didn't have to.

            “Why did you attack this caravan? These people were unarmed merchants.”

            “Is that what they told you? This is a slavers caravan; they were traveling to the capital city to sell their…product. I was tasked with securing the roads between Duzee and the capital. Slavery is forbidden here. Why are you traveling with these slavers Icilean?”

            A Lot of time had passed since he had been in Icilee. Slavery was a common practice here during the war, with everyone below the house of ten eligible to becoming bound under the rule of a greater house. Many families had been slain specifically because greater houses wanted their lands and their usable members. At least one good thing had come about after the end of the war.

            “I awoke in one of these wagons after collapsing in the snow near the Duzee boarder. They told me they were traveling to the capital to find a doctor that could look at me.”

            “You were lied too Reinhardt. They would have sold you to make a profit once they arrived at the capital. If we hadn't received word that they were traveling down this road you would have ended up in chains.” This must have been the reason the old man seemed slightly abnormal. Something about him hadn't felt correct; this must have been what he felt.

            “I awoke only shortly before the attack. I was not aware of their intentions, or yours.” Reinhardt figured that treading softly would still be the best option for him at the moment. They may be telling the truth about the slavers but his distaste for the Icilee royalty would surely show if he wasn’t careful. The war may have ended and things may have changed slightly but it couldn't have changed that much.

            “We are heading towards Ela Meda to report this incident to the Emperor. You are welcome to travel with us if you are well enough to ride. Some of our men were killed in the battle, these ‘merchants’ were armed better than some soldiers. Take your pick of the available horses, we leave in a few minutes.” Reinhardt nodded and grabbed the reins of one of the larger mounts. Pulling himself up into the saddle he waited for everyone to begin before he followed.

Darkness Before Dawn

 

              Days came and went as the group of riders and Reinhardt traveled towards Ela Meda. Overall the trip was comfortable, slowly growing warmer as they crawled further south. Isolde has assured him that they only had a few days of travel left, and they would begin seeing signs of the large capital city shortly.

            In his earlier years, stories about Ela Meda made the city sound like a marvelous place to visit. It wasn't until later in his life that the realization set in, it was nothing more than a city full of murderers, thieves, and elementalists. The war brought out the worst in every nation, driven by greed and lust for riches.

            Isolde pulled on the reins of his horse and came up alongside Reinhardt. The man wasn't handsome by most standards, shorter and fuller than normal Icileans. Being in a wealthy family had a way of making people fat. There was a long silence before he spoke but he seemed sincere in his kindness.

            “You’re lucky we found you Reinhardt. If that caravan had arrived at Ela Meda you would have been in shackles for the rest of your life.”

            “I do appreciate not being bound in chains, though I feel if it isn't one form of slavery it will just become another.” Reinhardt remembered the days before he entered the war. It was customary for farmers to be restricted by a boundary restriction, making it illegal for anyone without a permit to travel away from their assigned plot of land. Twice a year the head farmer would be allowed to leave to sell his harvest at market and collect supplies needed for the next months. These restrictions prevented peasants from gathering together and revolting against the government.

            “That is a grim view you keep Reinhardt. Living in Icilee isn't all that bad. The Emperium has been cracking down on slavery and crime out in the countryside for years now. We have made a lot of progress against prostitution and drugs, things are changing for the better.”

            “Some things never change Isolde, greed is one of them.” It didn't matter how hard people tried, they wouldn't be able to break free of their sins. Isolde just nodded in approval, deciding to not fight the matter anymore. He seemed like an honest man, naive but friendly. A few more moments passed in silence before the chubby man spoke again.

            “I have a question for you Reinhardt. If you’re not part of one of the houses what is it that you do? I have never seen someone handle themselves like you in a fight before who isn't a soldier, yet you wear no uniform.”

            “I was a farmer in another life.” The comment brought a look of amusement to the man.

            “Why would a farmer have a sword of that quality hanging around?”

            “I was…drafted… into the war after my family was murdered. I got the sword during that time.” Reinhardt didn't feel the need to elaborate on the details of his times fighting, this man didn't need to know about it.

            “Do you mean the civil war from fifteen years ago?” Reinhardt threw the man a strange look. The war of greed had been devastating to every nation on the greater and lesser expanses. There was no way it could have been classified as a civil war. All six nations fought viciously for control and for money.

            “I don’t remember much before I collapsed, but I didn’t think it was that long ago.”

            “It was just about fifteen years ago, the now Master Joer rebelled against the tyranny of the old empire and took power. Since that day he has done nothing but work to make his reign prosperous and improve the lives of all he protects.” Reinhardt didn't understand any of what the man was saying. Joer was the Master of Icilee