What Was Forgotten Read Online Free PDF Page B

little brother,” Tascell said. “At least not when the barbarian is so close he might hear you. He may cut you down for your belligerence, and he’d probably get another commendation for it.” Tascell gave the slightest hint of a grin. Of all the Tauthri, he was the fiercest. He was tall for their kind, too, as tall as the average Trueborn. He kept his head bare as a rank and file soldier might, only because he refused to cover his clan’s sigil that was tattooed on the back of his head. His height and muscular frame was enough to distinguish him from the rest of the Tauthri.
    “Do you think the Commander will allow me to have my isaithea?” Gavras asked, as his fingers tapped restlessly against his legs. It was rare that the Tauthri were allowed to indulge in their own culture, which meant the playing of their traditional war songs was typically forbidden. Zayd was uncertain how many of the Tauthri in Vaetus’ army were musicians, but he knew that Vaetus kept Gavras’ isaithea locked away somewhere. The instrument had five strings stretched over a narrow board that the player laid across his lap. A circular hollow of thin wood was attached under the centre of the board so the sound could resonate. Gavras, who was among the youngest of the Tauthri, was a particularly talented player and was almost always tapping his fingers on something, playing a tune in his mind.
    “He might,” Zayd said. “None could dispute that it’s been earned. I’ll ask once he isn’t preoccupied with readying the regiments for the march.”
    Gavras smiled and nodded eagerly, his fingers tapping faster. “Thank you, captain. Much longer without it and I’ll forget how to play.”
    “Doubtful,” Tascell said.
    “It shouldn’t be much longer until we leave,” Zayd said to Tascell. “Make sure the others are prepared.”
    Tascell nodded. “At once.” He turned to Gavras. “Come, little brother. Let’s ready ourselves to quit this place.”
    “I’ve been ready for weeks,” Gavras said.
     
     
     
    They were on the march an hour after sunrise, heading northward on an old road they had managed to discern on the near-indecipherable Dramandi maps. Zayd was happy to leave Yasri behind him. In some ways, the past two weeks had been worse than the siege. It had started with the mass executions, which only the En Kazyr giants seemed to enjoy. As always, there came a point where the prisoners, horrified at the methodical slaughter, began to plead for any other sort of fate. That point came far later with the Dramandi, who remained so silent that Zayd thought that every last soul would meet their death without uttering a sound.
    Yet they did relent, and even Zayd felt relief for them. General Vaetus, though, commanded the executioners to continue; the Dramandi were not just another conquered people, after all. They had started the war, and so their punishment must be appropriate. They had burned the dead, cleansing with fire the darkness from the bodies of their enemy. The smoke from the pyres had lasted for days.
    They would have been spared if they relented earlier. Thousands now dead could have lived, simply by renouncing their false beliefs and pledging their mind and body to the Beacon. Many would have lived out the rest of their days as slaves, but Zayd knew it was better to be a slave for the Empire than to be a free man living in the dark.
    He looked over his shoulder at the city and a surreal feeling took hold of him as he realized he might be one of the last living creatures to see the city standing. When the war ended, or perhaps sooner, the city would be razed until the ashes were carried off in the wind. The only memories would be those hidden away by the the historians, who even now were recording every conceivable fact about the Dramandi, and when they deemed their task complete, the information would be locked away in the Compendium. To the rest of the world, the Dramandi were a shadow that grew fainter by the day, and