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I am Tyghus, son of Tygustus, son of Marria. I hail from the city of Tygonium, province of Draygonea.
For ten years of my life, I toiled at the War Academy in Avergon. I did everything the Empire asked of me during that time, did everything to become one with my fellow troops, become the fighting machine the Empire so desired us to be. Trained for hours on end, marched for days and weeks at a time. Sometimes barely got a meal in my belly. Grueling affairs, truly; I wasn’t ready for how scared I’d be some of those nights.
Yet throughout all that time, my instructors placed the most emphasis not on the physical, but on the mental. And the mind, they said, could only be fed by reading the scrolls of history or those of famous thinkers from bygone eras. I’d wager I’ve read hundreds of those dusty old scrolls by now, maybe thousands. Aye, I can feel their rough surface, smell their musty stench as if I were holding ’em in front of me right now.
But out of everything I read, two types of scrolls stood out above all else – those that told the tales of the Clannic Wars and those that spoke of virtue. For all the world’s ills can be traced back to those horrible wars out of which the Empire was born: our grudge against Valogar, our suspicion of Colvery, our north falling out of kinship with our south. The roots of all those things are in the scrolls, and with hope, the solution resides there as well.
The scrolls of virtue rang especially familiar to me, seeing how they so closely mirrored the teachings of my father, or what I remember of him. Philosophers wrote them, touting what all Imperial citizens should aspire to be – honest, good, generous, but above all else, ready to sacrifice their body and soul for the Realm. That commitment, that affinity, that undying fidelity to the throne, it’s something I feel many of our people are wont to forget. More’s the pity.
Tyghus kept low to the ground as he headed for a patch of tall grass just on the camp’s edge. He hadn’t a shred of armor on him, only his sword.
His heart quickened as the rider quickly closed, his hooded brown cloak fluttering from his speed. Tyghus was intent on baiting the approach, certain he was safely blurred amongst grassy stalks.
Ten yards. The heavy gallops were loud now. Blade in hand, he sprang to his feet –
E.M. Thomas was born and raised on the East Coast of the United States but is a world traveler at heart. He caught the writing bug early on and has a passion for all good fiction, but especially that of the fantasy and historical variety. One of his favorite moments thus far in his young career was writing a chapter of his latest book about the great battle of Corinth - while sitting amidst the ruins of ancient Corinth.
Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.com/author/emthomas
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