The Seven Kings

Rashim

The noise got him off his bed.

In the early hours of the day, the city guards would ring the warning bells, alerting the mages within the walls of an imminent raid on their heavily fortified stronghold. Most of the time, it was merely a drill, a ploy from the ruler of the city to keep them constantly on their toes, wary of a sudden attack. The times when it was actually an attack from their oppressors, Rashim would flock towards where the remaining orphans were gathered, and remain locked up with them in a room, awaiting the success or defeat of the warriors that are trained to fend off the invaders. Thankfully, the city had always escaped with a slim victory, leaving the mages shorthanded and in need of supplies in preparation for yet another attack.

According to the history books he had managed to get his hands on, and the stories told by the older mages that cared for him and the other children that had lost their parents to the gruesome war before they had been old enough to know them, the mages had been holding the city for nearly a thousand years, successfully turning over every demon hoard they had come face to face with. At first, it was stated the attacks had been constant. But now they had grown bored of the stubborn cattle holed up within the four walls of the city and left them with the frequent small-scale attacks.

Of course, they had enough to survive on, and never really lacked basic necessities. With the forceful imprisonment imposed on the city, those in charge had decided to set up a scouting regiment. It had first been met with much opposition from the people, most simply afraid to leave the protection of the city. But soon enough, reduction in supplies drove them out, sending groups of nine out to small demon camps or ruins. The king of their city had decided to give them the title, "Riders," the noble souls who dared the dangerous plains, searching for whatever they could.

His parents had been Riders, or at least, that's what the mother of the orphanage had said when he had questioned her about his origins. They belonged to the many mages who ventured out and never returned. When he had told her he intended to become a Rider to find them, she had lashed her hand across his face, glaring at him with fierce, but worried eyes.

"You must never do such a thing," she had said, clenching his shoulders. Her short greying hair fell on either side of her head, not growing past her collarbone. She showed no signs of aging, although she was a fifty-nine-year-old woman, she resembled women twenty years younger. Usually, she was friendly and caring of the children. But his statement flared her up. That was the first and last time he could recall seeing her angry.

"But I want to find my parents," his five-year-old self had sniffled miserably. "They're out there."

If he had been any older, he would have understood the pain her eyes held. Understanding the boy's desire, she pulled him into a hug, squeezing him.

"We're your family now, " she said firmly.

Of course, after that, he had returned her embrace, her warmth and care irresistible at the time. But as time went on, he became fixed on solely one goal. And that was becoming what his parents had. Besides wanting to follow in his parent's footsteps, being a Rider also offered certain benefits most inhabitants of the city didn't have access to. But his real reason for it was his undying hatred for the race that had greedily left their realm and taken theirs by force. He was going to force them out even if he had to die for it.

Getting off his bed now, nearly fifteen years gone by from when he was scolded by the dearly departed woman he had come to love as a mother, Rashim was merely days from achieving the goal he had longed for, despite her best efforts to turn his mind away from it. Unfortunately, the rapid ringing of bells had interrupted his peaceful slumber. He would have a hard time focusing during the day if he didn't get enough sleep.

"Doesn't sound like the demon alarm," he mumbled to himself, pulling on his white, cotton shirt that hung off the frame of his bed. Still in his breeches, he walked over to the dark blue drapes covering the only small window frame in his hut and drew it aside.

He was close to the gates, as were the other low-born or orphaned folks that dwelled within the city. His house was very similar in comparison to the others around it. When he had first moved out of the orphanage into his small home, he had found himself wandering into other mages' houses before finally memorizing the location of his hut. Rashim wasn't too bothered about his living conditions though, unlike several traders he had met who grumbled and cursed the fancy rich mages dwelling at the center of Verdack City. Before long, he would have to give up his home anyway.

Being close to the gates also meant the large velonium iron bells that had stirred up the ruckus leading to him waking up, was stationed on the walls right beside his home. If he was thankful for anything, it was having a fairly clear view of what was happening. The massive gates swung open, pulled aside by a mechanism within the walls. In the past, he had wondered why the demons didn't just break through the wall instead of trying to breach the gate. It was the man, who came around the orphanage thrice a week to educate them, that told him the walls were made of the same material the gates were formed from, only in its raw state. The most durable metal on Ceros. Admonium Steel.

It was the same metal those in the middle of the city used for armor and weapons. The Riders were also occasionally given admonium steel armor and weapons, but that solely depended on what they brought back from their expedition. To Rashim, the condition for acquiring the metal was stupid and pointless. But he wanted it anyway and hoped he would be lucky enough to wear a full set of armor for the first time in his life.

Drawing his mind away from his near future and back into the present, he watched as a swarm of armored women, all mounted on horses, made their way into the city. At first, he had thought more people had somehow escaped and found their way here, but once he saw one of them holding a banner with a spear running through a shield, he grinned.

They were the Amazons. That was what they had chosen to call themselves. A band of female warriors who ventured out on expeditions deadlier than the best of Riders could dream of. They were a fearsome group, consisting of a growing number of a hundred able-bodied women. Their leader, the mage who was rumored to be equivalent to over ten thousand mages, had been granted permission to form her group after she proved her worth by fending off a demon attack single-handedly. While the current king had wanted her to serve as one of his personal guards, she had refused and went on to lead her ruthless team.

Rashim admired them, having met them during a short Rider expedition himself and three other trainees had embarked on. They had been accompanied back into the city by their leader herself. She was the fearsome warrior everyone imagined her to be. And as usual, she was leading her pack while seated atop a black horse. Her black hair hung loosely at the sides of her armor, parted wide enough to reveal her fierce pale face. She looked worn out.

"I'd have been surprised if you were still asleep," a deep masculine voice said, startling him. Turning his head to his left, he noticed flames jumping off a torch, revealing where the speaker was.

"Can't get a damn wink with those stupid bells so closeby," he scowled. "Another good reason being a Rider isn't such a bad decision."

"I stopped bothering to change your mind a long time ago, Rashim. There's no point in doing it again now that you're so close to finally achieving your dream."

Rashim lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

Spreading his arms wide open, the man with the torch swore with mockery glaring in his words. "I, Tomas, swear not to interfere with Rashim's plan of heading out into a slaughterhouse."

"Oh shut up."

Tomas chuckled, waving his hand over the fire on the torch, putting it out. "I'll only wish you the best of luck and pray to whatever damned god I can to bring you back safely."

"We only have o-"

Tomas' sky blue eyes shut him up immediately. The intensity behind them was more than enough to render Rashim mute.

"Still can't understand why you and those other damned fanatics still believe in him."

"He'll help us eventually, Tomas. I believe he's still watching."

"The All-Mighty One is dead, Rashim," he spat out his name with enough venom to make Rashim flinch. "Only we can help ourselves."

Raising his hands in defeat, Rashim remained silent, preferring not to further aggravate his friend. Tomas, like most of the mages within Verdack City, had been informed of a great liberator. A being who they could look on to as a god. They had been told, within those little orphanage walls, that their god would someday come and pull them out of the chaos they were in. But now, nearly a thousand years gone since they were imprisoned, they had received no such liberation.

Rashim didn't entirely believe the myth of a mage powerful enough to ward off the demons single-handedly. He wasn't a fanatic, as Tomas had called the minority of the population. He just believed sooner or later, they would receive help from someone or something. Nearly a thousand years was more than enough to push them back into the corner of blind faith. And he was more than willing to partially indulge in it.

"Gods or not, we'll blow those demons to hell," Rashim said instead, giving Tomas a fake, but convincing, smile.

"Sure as hell we will," he smirked. It faded into a small frown as he corrected himself. "You will, I mean. Nothing much we can do from inside the walls anyway."

"You could always join me, you know."

Tomas smiled, but Rashim could tell it was empty. His eyes gave his pain away. "I'm good here. I'll be useful here when the demons raid."

Rashim didn't respond. Instead, he turned his attention back to the Amazons. They had lessened since his conversation with Tomas began. From the massive crowd, it had declined to a little straight line of them streaming in one by one. He could almost imagine the demons using this opportunity to storm the city. If they decided to hit them now, at full force, Verdack City wouldn't stand a chance.

"Ah well, best be off," Tomas said, clearing his throat. "You should get some rest as well."

"I will, Tomas. Sleep well."

Raising his hand to his torch, Tomas snapped his fingers above it, red aura forming slightly over his hand. The torch ignited immediately, the flames flickering violently against the cold breeze. Tomas raised his left hand to say goodbye, before turning around and disappearing into the night. Rashim watched him go, before turning back to the gates.

He stood there, watching, as the last of the Amazons flocked through. The massive gates creaked as they slowly swung shut. The last of the mages, who had ventured out to ensure there were no surprises from the demons, returned back inside, their backs still to the city. Letting out a breath of relief, Rashim drew his drapes shut and went back to his bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.