Silverfire

CHAPTER 1. OATHKEEPER

Keep thy word.

There are far worse crimes in the world but in the kingdom of Greenrun, not being able to keep an oath is the vilest offense there is. Elira grew up understanding that promises are sacred—to the gods, to her people, to her family. To uphold the name she possesses, to honor the Cavallé lineage, is to live by their manifesto; Keep thy word. Keep thy tongue. Keep thy life.

“Why did he kill them?” the man with the scarred eye asks once again.

For fourteen days that he’s been holding her captive, he’s also asking the same cryptic question: Why did he kill them? Every day, he will open the brig. He’ll force her out to the deck and threaten to throw her into the water. The waves will splash onto her face and hurt her eyes but she’ll only think about how far they are now. She’s never been this far from the grasslands before.

The man will grow angrier and angrier at her silence and he will yell more hostile taunts. But blackmailing her will never work. Never. Her father made sure of that.

Elira knows who her captors are. Being a highborn, it is one of her duties to learn about the allies and enemies of her family. One look and she immediately deduces they are from Sparrow Island, a recently conquered island southeast of Greenrun. The ship they are in curiously lacks modernism. They still use sails and ropes instead of steam-powered engines—perhaps some sort of defiance against the continent that seized them.

Wrong choice, she mused. If they’re left behind in machinery, pursuers will soon catch up. They won’t stand a chance in a fight. There won’t even be a fight, if she’s to be blunt. With all that old-fashioned knives and swords, they’ll lose in a blink of an eye.

On the sixteenth day of her capture, Elira finally sees other things than the sea. Islands. Little cays made of green and gray. None appears to be habitable but the glory and beauty amazes her more than enough.

“Why did he kill them?” the man asks again as the ship slowly makes its way in between the rocky ledges. Elira watches a flock of drakelings flying past the ship instead of paying attention to the question. She never knew how to answer anyway.

Her curious eyes follow the black creatures as they glide smoothly above the ship. Elira has never seen them this close before. Drakes always fly high above the land. They don’t seem to like Greenrun. She always thought they look like bats, only larger, but on closer perspective, they’re more like young panthers with scales and leathery wings. Fully grown drakes are said to be more ferocious-looking, though they’re all just assumptions. Drakes’ nests are on the far Northern islands and so far, nobody made it out alive upon setting foot on the area.

The scarred man blocks her view, towering her by at least a foot. Ah, yes. He was ‘interrogating’ her, she almost forgot. The man’s scar runs from above his left eye down to the cheek, giving him some sort of barbaric look. It miraculously didn’t impair his eye. It doesn’t look longstanding either, perhaps acquired from a recent fight.

“You think this is some sort of trip, yeah? Haven’t you realized you were kidnapped?” he spits out nastily.

Elira gives the man a casual look. She could’ve laughed but she contained herself. Of course, she knows. She’s not stupid. It’s him who doesn’t realize that taking her away was in fact, in her favor. These people just set her free. It doesn’t matter if she’s bound in chains or not. There’s not much difference back in Greenrun.

Her silence pisses the abductor once again. With that, he grabs a handful of her hair and yells to her face, “Answer me, why did your father murder my child and wife!” His breath stinks of rum.

Ah, so that’s it. During the siege of Sparrow, many were killed by Greenrun soldiers. She witnessed most of it. Being the heir, it was her duty to be present in wars. It didn’t matter if she’s a woman and it never will be. ‘Princess’ is never synonymous with ‘pampered’ in Greenrun. Being a princess means being a warrior.

But this man’s vendetta is heavily directed to her father which means the king himself killed this man’s family. Unfortunately, who her father executes isn’t her business anymore. A king never asks for permission to kill. Especially in a war.

Fed up, Elira finds her voice, cracked and hoarse but firm. “I don’t know!” she yells back to the man’s face.

“You don’t know?” the man snarls. “Don’t you lie to me, you little bitch. You keep protecting that madman—that-shit-of-a-king—you were there when he killed them!”

Lie? No. That’s not quite right. Elira never lies. Lying is a crime punishable by tongue-cutting or even death.

She lifts her forehead, not really minding the pain of how the man holds her hair. She had worse back at home.

“My name is Elira; heir to the House Cavallé; daughter of Ramuel the Unbent, king of Greenrun. Our people may kill but we do not lie. You ought to know that, sir, before you took me,” she says in a voice thick with candor and newfound control.

The man lets go of her hair only to let his palm hit her left cheek. The impact forces Elira to collapse on the soggy deck. A surge of stinging sensation along with the metallic taste fills her mouth. Undaunted, she nonchalantly spits the blood on the floor. In her mind, she thinks how lame the pain compared to what her father used to give her. Not even enough to ignite her fire.

“I know who you are,” the man says sternly. “What I want is the truth, not your sass!”

She scoffs and looks up. “Truth is a curious thing, isn’t it? You spend your whole life searching for it without knowing for sure what it’ll cost you.”

“The truth will give me peace. Answers will give my family justice!”

“You do not seek for answers. What you seek is vengeance,” she says bluntly

The man glares at her. “What do you know of what I want? You know nothing, princess,” he says mockingly.

“I know one thing. Answers cannot bring the dead back. Answers cannot give you justice.”

The man doesn’t answer. He just stares at her then turns his back at her and leaves. Elira spits blood again on the floor.

As soon as the scarred man left, the ship’s cabin boy approached her. He squats in front of her and grins, as if taunting her misery. The first thing Elira notices is the metal filling on the boy’s front tooth. Not too shabby for a pirate-wannabe.

“Man, that’s nasty. What’s the matter, princess? Ya’ uncomfortable? Missing yer velvet bed and woolly sheets?”

Elira chuckles at what the kid said. This boy has the orthodox idea of royal life. Velvet beds do not exist in Greenrun and wool sheets are used only during winter. A typical regal day for Elira includes whipping rods and torture cells. She laughs harder at the memory.

“Stupid bitch,” the boy mutters, confused by her laughter. He grabs the shackles by the mast and secures it on her feet.

Shackles—oh, how she hates them. The way they were latched on her little wrists as if she’s some dirty-blooded slaver, the way the gears cranked and pulled her limbs little by little, the way the icy water wash away and impair every bit of her defiance, the way she struggled and screamed while her father watched, the way he told her it’s for her own good—no, her captor’s wrong. She’ll never protect that madman. That-shit-of-a-king.

Of course, she tries hard not to feel hatred—he’s her flesh and blood after all. But the bruises from her childhood cannot lie, as if the pain itself lives by the word of their house.

Elira used to think that the torture was done for a good reason. She believed that King Ramuel was a stern man for a good reason. After all, he’s not just the head of the Cavallé clan. He’s also the king of Greenrun, a vast dominion of grasslands and dells east of the continent of Amaro. And as the king, he is also one of the Four Supreme Lords.

He was dubbed as the Unbent for his reputation of not losing a war but that’s not true at all. He lost one war during his first attempt to siege Winglake Isle. But none were put in history books in effort to create an ideal image of the Eastern king. The first war he won wasn’t even a bloody one. In order to strengthen his kingdom’s forces, Ramuel married Lady Yllana Clive of Clusterose and took over the city’s army.

For forty years, he waged several wars within nearby territories and managed to snatch bits of lands from Orion and neighboring islands. He eventually took Winglake Isle and his latest prize is Sparrow Island. Within that short time, Greenrun grew large and powerful.

But that’s not gonna stop there because in just a few months, Elira is off to marry a prince in Sakarat; securing a deeper, much stronger alliance with an equally massive country. But before that, the king has to make sure she’s ready. She, after all, is a problem child. A fire that needs to be controlled. A monster that needs to be tamed.

The cabin boy pulls her chains and leads her back to the brig. The brig never fails to amuse Elira. It oddly lacks proper security measures, just an old-school rusty padlock. She could escape if she wanted to; only she had nowhere to go. She doesn’t want to go home—hell, no—and Sakarat isn’t a choice either.

They reach the stairs leading to the lower decks. The boy slightly pushes her but before they can go further down, an arrow skewers the boy’s neck. He lets out a gurgle as a sputter of blood sprays onto Elira’s face.

“Hunters—!” somebody yells and everyone on the ship takes up arms.

On the top of the rock island they’re passing by, a number of men aim their high-precision crossbows on the ship. Those weapons are extremely advanced in contrast to regular bow and arrows; take a second to load, and never ever miss a target. These Sparrow brigands don’t stand a chance.

Behind the soldiers on the rock island, Elira can see a green banner flowing with the wind. It bears an image of a black stallion standing on its hind hooves. Cavallé sigil.

The scarred man snatches her away from the grasp of the dying cabin boy.

“Looks like your king caught up to us,” he says as pulls her towards a cabin. He opens a trapdoor and pushes her in. “Leave that hold and I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

“Those are my father’s mercenaries. You have no chance,” she tells him.

“Yeah? Your guards at Greenrun told me that, too. I like odds, little girl.”

“Those guards are useless. You and your cohorts, too. Even those hunters are useless.”

The man throws her an irritated look. “Quit your yapping or I’ll cut out your throat! Now, shut up.”

The cabin door flies open and an Adamantine-wielding swordsman bursts in. The scarred man draws his own sword, ready to face the soldier. Elira watches through the trapdoor.

Metal against metal clangs loudly at the exchange of attacks. Her abductor isn’t just bragging. He likes the odds because he’s capable with a sword in hand. Two other mercenaries rush inside the cabin to join the fray. The small room barely fits for four blade-wielding people. But her father’s soldiers are trained at the open spaces of their homeland. Clearly, they’re not adapted to fight in a cramped room. It doesn’t matter if they’re using Adamantine swords. Skill always wins over equipment. In just a minute, each of them is slain by the scarred man.

But his small victory can’t even count. Outside, the crew’s screams depict an obvious loss for them. He grabs Elira out of the hold as she listens to him spit vile curses under his breath.

“I told you. You had no chance.”

“Shut up!”

“I can help you.”

“I said shut up!”

Another band of soldiers enter the cabin. The scarred man lets her go and cranks his neck. The first soldier attacks and he slashes left and right to defend. One comes after another—creating a violent dance of blood and metals. It is evident that the abductor’s strength won’t last for long. Soon, he’ll be overpowered and killed and she’ll be sent back to the Greenrun to her father. Out of the pan and into the fire.

She cannot let that happen.

The three remaining soldiers suddenly burst into flames.

The white fire, strangely hot, but does not burn other things other than the soldiers’ flesh, stuns the scar-faced man. For a moment, he just stands there, taking in the situation, wondering if it’s real. Then, his eyes land on Elira and a realization hits him.

“W-What the—YOU!” He points to her accusingly, his eyes suddenly flashes fear instead of confusion. “You’re the white drake! It’s you!”

Elira blankly throws a look at him but in her head, she’s laughing haughtily. Surprise, bitch.

The screams of people being burned alive barely reach her ears. She has to admit, this feels good. It’s been so long since she ignited this fire. This is why she said the hunters are useless. Everyone is useless. No one can take her unless she wants to be taken.

Another soldier comes in and Elira faces him, ready to turn him into dust.

Only it’s not a soldier. The rigid stance, the pale face and the cold green eyes are the same as hers—they are far too familiar. The scorching sensation in the room dissipates, replaced by the icy fear she learned to cater as a child.

“Father,” she mutters—breathless with terror.

“Unbent,” her abductor agrees. He grins maniacally, driven by his thirst for vengeance.

Without another word, he attacks the king. But the king is ten times stronger and faster. Unbent simply lifts his sword, hits the man on the face and the scarred man is thrown backwards across the room, bearing another scar on his cheek.

The king’s sword is an advanced weapon designed not only to cut flesh but cause extreme pain when hit with the blunt side. This side is engineered with ridges and tiny hooks that a single skin contact would target nerves and pain receptors. Only a handful of people use it in the whole continent of Amaro because aside from its unbelievable price, it’s also a weapon considered as an abomination to a human’s right against extensive torture. Of course, it is the Unbent and being the Unbent means not having any respect for other people’s rights.

The king approaches the unconscious man.

“No! Father, have mercy on him!” Elira yells as he prepares to cut the man’s head off.

“Mercy? After what this trash did, you want me to grant him mercy?” the king sourly tells her.

Elira trembles in fear. Why can’t she move? Why the fuck can’t she stand for herself?

“You’re a reckless, stupid brat,” Unbent continues. “First, you let them abduct you as if you’re a lowborn whore! You burned three of my soldiers, and now, this? If this was a test, you just failed!”

She can feel her lips quivering but somehow, she manages to gather her remaining courage to plead. What else can she do? She cannot let another death pass before her eyes without her trying to do something. “Please, Father. Make him your prisoner, a ward, a slave—anything. Just don’t kill him.”

“I never raised you to be imprudent!”

“You already took his family’s lives in Sparrow. Spare him. Please!”

“What good will it bring to me if I let him live? That trash will die.”

Elira raises her head and steadies her voice. “As the lady of the grasslands, I give you my word, my king, please spare his life and I’ll remain true and faithful to Greenrun.”

“You are the heir. You have no choice but to remain true and faithful to your country. You already gave that word the day you took your first breath.”

“Father, please—!”

“I don’t have time for this, Elira!”

Elira maintains her stance. She never asked for anything before. Let this be that time where she takes her courage and says what she wants.

Seeing her sudden boldness, The Unbent sighs and sheaths his sword. “We’re wasting time. Fine. That trash will have a fair trial at the high court. Satisfied? We are going home.”

As soon as the king walks out of the cabin, soldiers rush in and grab the scarred man. Elira lets out a suppressed air from her lungs and follows them. Outside, she is greeted by the sight of the slain crew.

The scarred man stirs as the soldiers tie him up on the mast.

“What’s going on? Why am I not dead?” he asks her with confused suspicion. “You intend to torture me before killing me?”

“You’ll be tried after the high court. You should be grateful. I saved your life,” she says flatly.

He lets out a nasty scoff. “What’s the use of saving my life? That shit-of-a-king took everything from me! Just kill me. Burn me like what you did there!” the man yells at her.

Elira doesn’t answer. She just backs away but the man continues to yell taunts at her and to her father. She’s about to tell him to stop when a blade cuts through his neck, completely decapitating the man.

Elira screams in shock and falls on her knees on the deck.

Her eyes trace the sword. Adamantine. The one with the pain-ridges and hooks. She looks up at its wielder and meets the gaze of the king.

“Too noisy,” her father casually tells her as he wipes the blood on the headless man’s shirt.

“W-What have you done...?”

“Stand up, Elira. You’re not going to mourn for this trash.”

But Elira isn’t listening. “Y-You said you won’t kill him…” All she can think of is how her father broke his word.

The burning sensation returns. Her blood begins to boil up. This man she calls her king—her father—abused her in every kind unimaginable and she never fought back. Not ever.

“A king does not ask for permission to kill.”

There are far worse crimes in the world but to her, not being able to keep an oath is the vilest offense there is.

“You gave me your word! You said you won’t kill him!” she screams.

“Elira! Learn your place!”

That shut her up. Her head is spinning with anger, her chest is stirring with suppressed hatred.

Learn my place? She just learned her place. And it’s not in Greenrun. It’s not under the harsh rule of a selfish tyrant who cannot keep his own house’s code.

Wiping her face off with emotions, she stands up. The heat intensifies.

“You know what, Father? I just discovered something about fire,” she begins talking in a dangerously calm and composed tone. The soldiers start to feel the change in the wind’s temperature. Few of them are looking around in the empty air with bewildered faces.

Elira takes a step forward, her eyes empty and bland. “Fire is wild. You cannot tame it. You cannot curb its ferocity. Once it’s unleashed, it can burn just anything. It can burn fear. It can burn respect.”

“What are you talking about, you little—aghk!” The Unbent never finishes his words because right there, his mouth bursts into white flames.

Keep thy word. Keep thy tongue. Keep thy life.