The Darkened War

Ch.6

Burgess lazily tagged along behind the other guards, hoping they would call for a break. It was not that he was tired; he had been training since he was six--ten years now--and while he was the youngest, he was also believed he was the most qualified; superior in talent and skill. If he wanted to, he could run to Effulgence carrying a bag of bricks over his shoulders, but the last thing he wanted to be doing was tracking down a traitor to the throne. While some would see this as an honorable position, it was an embarrassment to Burgess. As a knight in training, he wanted to be on the field, not behind the scenes, traveling for days on end in boredom to gain what Daniel referred to as "experience", which Burgess understood was an excuse to say he was too young and therefore wasn't ready. However, Burgess felt he was more than ready. In fact, if Daniel had given him the role of assassin instead of a girl only two years older than he was, none of this would be necessary. He would not have betrayed Rayland; he would not have failed either.
More than even a knight, Burgess longed to be an assassin. A higher status was only one reason he craved the position, another was that he would be working alone. Assassins worked in the dead of night, and depended on stealth and reflexes—something Burgess did not doubt he would excel in. They would decide their own strategies and tactics, singlehandedly, and once they decided to go no one would be there to slow them down. If the position had been given to Burgess rather than Alyssa, he was confident he would have, with the proper training, already beheaded King Adrien, and declared Rayland victor. Instead, they were wasting time. Why was it so important to Daniel he got Alyssa back? Burgess thought it would be more beneficial for him to just kill both her and Adrien. Sometimes, Burgess even wished he was king.
The more he thought about it all, the more it made him roll his eyes as they traveled through the thick mud on foot. Instead of doing any of those things, he was listening to everyone call him 'kid' like he was some child they picked up along the way.
For the entire journey, the rain didn't stop. Burgess's hair was soaked, and the large drops stung, hitting the back of his neck like pebbles. His clothes drank up the water and made him feel heavy, and his feet stuck into the ground every time he took a step. This was not how he had intended to spend these next few weeks. If nothing else, there were girls back at home waiting for him. In his sixteen years he had never been so miserably annoyed by what little life had to offer.
He had only met Daniel's assassin once about a year ago, and only in passing. He had spoken to her, but she did not say much in return. Burgess remembered wondering how on earth she had gotten that position—she did not look like much. She was certainly pretty; thin, tall, and blond—visibly appealing to have around, but did not appear very strong. She was also young and unfamiliar, which meant she wasn't a noble, or of any rank that would give her advantage when it came to training; so how skilled could a girl like really be? It was offensive that she had a higher position than he did; a girl, a no one, a traitor to the throne. Burgess scowled as an order was given to pick up the pace, but obeyed anyway. He glanced up at the man who had given it: The Captain of the Rayland guard. He was middle aged, and though where he lacked youth he had experience, that meant nothing to Burgess. Burgess was a fast learner; intelligence was superior to age. Time could make people wiser, but a young genius would always win over an old fool.
Another hour passed before they stopped. Burgess, though relieved to finally rest, also was unsettled. Stopping now would only lengthen the travel time. Still, he set up camp without any verbal complaint. He did not immediately crawl inside his tent, he found his resting place by a tree instead and watched the rain drizzle down on him through the branches. He shivered, and wished he could start a fire, but that thought deteriorated when another icy raindrop fell to his nose; the idea was fanciful, but not at all realistic in this weather. The night's darkness took over, and Burgess closed his eyes. The sound of rain almost put him to sleep, before the last voice he wanted to hear brought him back.
"Burgess." The Captain stood in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Burgess's eyes lazily flickered open and he raised an eyebrow. The Captain simply shook his head, "Go to your tent, you are already sore, but it will be worse tomorrow if you fall asleep against this tree."
Burgess sighed, responding with light sarcasm, "Thank you for your concern, but I'm sure I will be alright."
"Most men would not dare to speak that way to their captain." His reply was not harsh, but observant, "But you are not most men, are you Burgess?"
"I am better." It was blunt, but Burgess didn't regret the words.
The captain leaned against the tree beside him, "Not like most men, partially because you are not a man yet. You are young, and gifted, but talent only goes so far. The rest is character, and arrogance can be destructive."
"The only thing destructive is all the time I am wasting here with you." Burgess wanted to hear no more, and headed to his tent.

The captain made himself a hypocrite and remained against the tree he had just lectured Burgess for sitting by, but he found himself in deep thought. Burgess was young, had much to learn, and in some ways reminded the captain of himself during his youth—he had abilities too, which he now hid, but his were a different sort. He too had been gifted with stealth and speed and strength—but that was hardly what made him special, and gave him his confidence.
He closed his eyes, concentrating, and the branches on the tree bent and came together to form a shield against the rain. It was beautiful. His magic was in use after years of being locked up and it made the captain feel young again. He used it frequently when he was in his teens and early twenties, keeping it a secret the entire time, yet he spent little time actually enjoying it. Like what he sensed Burgess's intentions were, his also at that age were on rising up the ranks. He was eventually made Rayland's assassin after the king noticed his quick thinking and physical ability; however, the Captain kept his magic a secret even then, out of fear it would be mistaken as witchcraft and he would be killed.
Despite this, he put hours into practicing it. He started with something as simple as manipulating the air around an object, and invested in it daily until eventually he could summon a storm with the snap of his fingers. He soon found it was not difficult at all to use his power; but controlling it was a different matter. At first, he didn't care. He had incredible ability, that was accomplishment enough; until the day his magic took away the person he loved most in the world. From that moment on, he rid himself of it, and had not used magic since then, until now, but only to shield him from the rain. He had stepped down as Rayland's assassin, and instead became the captain of the guard. Somehow, a lower position seemed fitting, and exactly what he deserved. Regret for his pride had taken hold of him in those days, and still had not loosened its grip.
The captain left his spot by the tree and returned to camp. Despite his bedding, soaked from the water leaking in from the bottom of the tent, tried to doze off. The last thing his men needed was their captain half asleep, and the last think the captain needed was to give Burgess another reason to complain.
That night he dreamed. He was using his magic in a future not far off, in seemingly another world entirely. For everyone knew not only of his power, but magic was no longer a foreign concept. Yet, the wind was eerily cold, and the air tasted of death