“Dzhokhk’i hrdehneri mijots’ov, arevy arevot e p’ch’um yev mt’num yerkink’y!”
A beam of fire shoots from my fingertips and races into the sky, flying like a flaming arrow shot into the heavens. The flight draws the attention of all the demons in the camp, who stare transfixed at the clear blue expanse of the wasteland sky.
The fire suddenly bursts alight when it reaches its zenith, flaring outward in a dazzling display of pyrotechnics. For a moment, the war camp is bathed in green light, then, as the shimmering sparks begin to fall, the light evaporates, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.
My senses, still heightened by the slave woman's life essence, perceive a growing energy in the sky, a feeling of strength being gathered by the atmosphere itself. Black clouds begin to form out of nothingness where my fire at erupted, billowing out like thunderheads and covering the sky above our heads. Soon, even the sun's light is blotted out, shrouding the world around us in a layer of shadow.
Ripping Wailing Death from the dirt, I raise the blade into the sky and roar, "To arms! Today, we march to war!"
My army lets out a powerfully fierce cry and immediately begins breaking down camp, preparing the siege engines and bridling the beasts. I watch the proceedings with an imperious eye, my blood pulsing loudly in anticipation to the rhythm of battle.
When we finally begin our long march to Tarsynium, the clouds seem to follow us, heralding the return of the R'Laar to the world of men.
This time, we will not be stopped, I think to myself in determination. This time, we will be victorious.
Chapter One
Owyn
I hold Zara close as the demons descend.
The last of the defenders, bruised and bloodied, fall back to the huddled mass of former slaves while the gorgons gather themselves before us, forming up into ranks of red eyes and black steel.
There’s too many of them, I think, beginning to despair. This is going to be a slaughter.
Readying my already bloody quill dagger, I step in front of Zara and fall into a comfortable fighting stance – feet shoulder-width apart and my shoulders squared. Even against such overwhelming odds, I don’t plan on letting them kill me without a fight. I will go down protecting Zara for as long as I can.
Yari, who is bleeding from a cut on his forehead and another on his shoulder, comes and stands next to me, his face set in grim determination as he hefts his spear. Others come too, their expressions drawn and scared but defiant as they stare down what they know to be their death.
“Alright, you bastards,” I growl, snarling at the army of demons. “Come and get us!”
The gorgons, their impenetrable ranks now fully formed, begin to march forward, their otherworldly malevolence peering out from beneath their shields and armor.
Bracing myself, I whisper a prayer to the Light as the last few yards are crossed by the attackers.
However, before the demons can begin their work of death upon us, something unexpected happens – a distant boom that reminds me of the rumblings of a thunderstorm. A strange rippling sensation echoes through the fabric of the world around us, and everyone, both man and demon, looks about in confusion, sensing that something is about to happen.
The rippling intensifies, becoming a deafening sound that emanates from the Arc behind us, and as one we all turn to see the surface of the magical shield begin to pulse. The image reminds me of a pond disturbed by a thrown pebble, the undulating patterns running down the Arc and growing more violent with each passing second. Then, an instant later, the bluish energy simply vanishes, dissipating like mist and evaporating into the hot desert sky.
With a colossal rush, freezing cold air blows out of the Arc like an angry tempest, knocking many people down like leaves caught up in the winds of winter.
I drop my dagger and clutch Zara as the air washes over us, instantly chilling us to the bone and drenching us with icy droplets of snow. The screams of the terrified people are drowned out by the roar, but within a few moments all becomes quiet and still, the mist rising like frozen steam on the dry, arid land.
Before us lies the kingdom of Tarsynium, still locked in winter and overgrown with an enormous amount of vegetation. The sight is a stark contrast to the desolate world around us, the boiling wastes pressed against the lush, frozen landscape of my homeland. Only now there is an enormous difference – somehow, the Arc of Radiance is no more.
The silence persists for many heartbeats, everyone on both sides too stunned to speak or even move. Within myself I can feel an odd mixture of amazement, shock and worry, the emotions raging with one another for dominance.
Eleven Hells... it’s finally happened. The Arc of Radiance is gone!
The thought it so surreal that for a moment, I can merely sit and stare at the cold world that had felt so far out of reach a few minutes before.
Eventually, though, the stomping sound of boots and the clang of metal armor resumes, pulling me back to reality. Tensing, I turn to pick up my fallen dagger, preparing myself for the attack that will undoubtedly end my life.
Only it never comes.
To my continued shock, the gorgons are running away, fleeing our drenched and huddled crowd and making their way back through the tents, many of which had been blown down. They flee, sprinting as fast as their armored legs can take them until all of them are through the gap in the barricade and out of sight.
“By the almighty Light above,” Zara breathes beside me, her eyes wide and her chestnut hair askew. “Did that just happen?”
“I believe so,” I reply, getting to my feet and helping her up as well.
“The Arc... it just... exploded!”
“I know,” I reply dryly, wiping the moisture from my face. “I was there.”
She reaches out and lightly punches my arm. “I’m serious, Owyn! Do you have any idea what this means?”
Grunting, I slide my makeshift dagger into my belt. “It means that we have considerably less time to save the world than we thought.”
Around us, the people of the wastes begin dazedly getting to their feet. The cold air from within the Arc still lingers in the air, giving it a biting chill that only worsens the fact that we are all covered in melting snow. Still, it is fortunate that we are all still alive – the timing of the Arc’s demise couldn’t have been more perfect.
I am about to comment on our good fortune when Zara wavers, nearly falling to the ground. “Zara!” I exclaim, catching her before she can collapse. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she replies after a moment, blinking bleary eyes. “I’m just... a little tired. That’s all.”
Frowning in concern, I prop her up and allow her to lean heavily on my shoulder. Before the Arc had erupted, she had used almost all of her energy, and the energy of her young magical wards, to defend us from the gorgons and prepare a way for us to escape. In the end her efforts proved futile, though, as the Arc remained firm and demons’ numbers overwhelming.
That is, until fate intervened and our path became clear, I think to myself in amazement.
“Well, it seems like we are out of immediate danger,” I say after a moment, casting my eyes about. The people of the wastes still seem subdued, sobered by the sudden and strange turn of events. Many of them whisper to one another and begin making their way to the campsite, picking their way through the wreckage. “You should rest while we get our things together,” I continue. “Then, I suppose we should begin walking to Tarsys.”
“There’s no time for rest,” Zara complains, though she continues to lean against me for support. “Those gorgons can come back at any time and finish us off.”
“I don’t think they will be coming back anytime soon,” I reply distantly. “They seemed just as surprised as we were that the Arc came down. I have a feeling they will be returning to the main army on the plains to join the rest of the R’Laar...”
I let my words hang ominously in the air.
Zara takes a deep breath and exhales, finally st
epping away from my shoulder and gazing out into the Emberwood. She still seems a little unsteady, but her jaw is set firmly. “Alright,” she says at length, “we will prepare ourselves for the journey. Let me speak with everyone and then I promise that I will rest.”
Nodding satisfactorily, I move to check on the warrior youths I had trained while Zara addresses the crowd. Within minutes everyone begins busying themselves with organizing their tents and provisions, their demeanor remaining unobtrusive as they whisper darkly amongst themselves.
Yari and the other surviving youths, all battered and bloodstained, snap to attention as I approach, their spears against their shoulders and their postures unbent.
Even after coming within an inch of death they are resolute, I think to myself, marveling. Perhaps I will make true soldiers out of them yet.
Using my halting command of their language, I set up a perimeter to watch for the return of any demons. Even though I am fairly certain they will leave us alone, at least for the time being, I hate the idea of leaving ourselves exposed while we are preparing to depart.
The youths jump into action without a single word, rushing over to the barricade to keep a wary eye on the hills.
With the guard set, I begin aiding the beleaguered desert folk with gathering up their supplies. I start with my own tent first, rolling up the dusty leather and cinching it with fibrous cords, then move on to help the others, loading provisions into various packs. It doesn’t take long, however, before I realize that the truly difficult task has yet to be done: the gathering of the dead.
Working with several of the men, I start the grisly task of moving the corpses of the fallen defenders and lining them up neatly on the ground behind the barricade. There are far more than I had anticipated. Rock throwers, spearmen and even a few women and children fell to the gorgons’ blades, and by the time we finish with the organization, my heart feels extremely heavy.
We leave the demons bodies where they are, not bothering to move them. Instead, we focus our efforts on layering the human corpses with brambles and broken lengths of dry wood, preparing a pyre for burning.
At some point during our labor, a distant streak of green light shoots into the sky, originating from the plains miles away. Then, hundreds of feet up, it seems to burst, sending out a rumble like thunder as the green sparks dissipate. Within seconds, ugly black clouds begin to form, spreading out across the sky like mold devouring a piece of bread. It doesn’t take long until the entire area of the hills is shadowed by the roiling, thunderous clouds.
That doesn’t look good, I think to myself as everyone else continues their work, muttering uneasily to themselves. A bad omen, to be sure.
BY THE TIME WE ARE finished, there are still several hours left before nightfall.
Stepping away from the grisly scene, I blow air into my cupped hands and rub them together for warmth. Ever since the Arc came down, the winter climate of Tarsynium has slowly seeped out to inhabit the dry wastes of the land beyond.
In fact, everyone seems to be shivering with the cold, their desert bodies unused to the frigid air.
When I return to the camp, Zara is up and moving about the huddled groups of people. Judging by the tone of her voice and the resulting actions of those she passes, she seems to be instructing them to clothe their exposed skin with every bit of cloth they can find.
As I approach, she looks up at me and gives me an apologetic shrug. “I rested – honestly. I feel much better now.” Even as she speaks, I can see the fatigue in the way she carries herself, dark circles ringing the space beneath her eyes.
Despite this, I say nothing. It is probably good that she is now up and moving. The time has come for us to finally depart.
“Everything seems to be in order now,” I say gruffly, stretching the weary muscles in my arms. “I think it’s time we leave this place behind.”
She nods, then casts a glance over shoulder, looking once more out into the wintry forest of the Emberwood. With the newly formed clouds, the leafless trees look rather menacing. “After all these weeks, a part of me never thought we’d see home again. Now that we are going back, I find myself... apprehensive. I’m not sure why.”
I walk up to her and take her hand in mine, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I feel the same way,” I reply softly. “Now that the Arc is gone, it doesn’t really feel like we are going home at all.”
She looks at me, deep, brown eyes searching as she stares into my own. Then, she smiles. “I’m certain about one thing, Owyn Lund: whatever is to come, I’m glad that I get to face it with you.”
Returning her smile, I lean in and give her a tender kiss on the lips.
The moment quickly passes, though, as the shuffling footfalls of the desert folk bring us back to reality. Turning, we begin making final preparations to leave behind the wastes once and for all.
Within the half hour we all gather around the pyre, the air mournful as we regard the ones who have fallen. Zara uses a small spark of magefyre to light it, and the brambles quickly spring to life. Channeling even a small amount of magic seems painful for her, but fortunately she does not keel over from exhaustion.
After watching the flames consume the bodies for a few moments, we wordlessly turn and begin making our way into the forest, our caravan trudging through the snow that has already started to melt. As we leave the wastes behind, I can’t help but spare a glance at the arid landscape behind me. This wretched place should have become my grave, but instead it had only brought Zara and me closer together. Now, the desolation will only spread, encroaching with the R’Laar as they march ever inward to ravage our homeland.
Taking a breath of cold, humid air, I turn my back on the wastes once and for all and make my way into the trees, remembering sadly the days I had spent training to become a ranger in these very woods.
Chapter Two
Elias
Panic grips the city of Tarsys following the destruction of the Arc of Radiance, blood and horror filling the streets as the dust begins to settle.
Leading the Nightingale warriors through the palace, I walk uninterrupted toward the exit with a bloodstained letter in my hand, the guards all apparently having fled from their posts. Behind us, the bodies of the king and the High Magus lie cold and alone, undiscovered by the palace staff who are no doubt running home to check on their kin.
The very world, it seems, has come to the brink of destruction.
We pass the corpse of Sturgis on our way down the hall. The captain lies amidst the bodies of several guards, having brought them down before finally succumbing to his wounds. Pausing beside him, I kneel down and close his eyes which had been staring blankly at the ceiling.
As I get up, I notice something strange protruding from the belt of one of the fallen guards – a simple hatchet, the handle bound in leather and the head embossed with a carving of windblown leaves.
Owyn's hatchet.
Frowning, I reach for the weapon and pull it from the belt. It seems to have been kept in good shape and must have been taken by this man as a trophy. Discarding my swordbreaker, I replace the hatchet on my own belt on the side opposite my knife. Then, we continue on our way, travelling grimly through the corridors and down the twisting servant stairs.
After retrieving Malik and Renlyn, who are still standing guard in the cellar, we make for the streets, walking out of the relative calm of the palace and into the madness outside.
Need to get to the Conclave, I think, watching as soldiers in red tabards attempt to quell the near-hysterical crowds. Even as we stand there at the palace gates, the press of bodies moving away from the destruction at the center of the city is staggering, a thick layer of dust choking the air.
“Come on,” I growl, stepping forward into the multitude. “Stay close and try not to hurt anyone.”
Travelling through the streets proves to be a struggle. Mobs of people rush to and fro, calling out the names of loved ones and pushing roughly past one another in desperation. City watchmen, th
eir faces drawn and pale, call for order with their hands on their swords, but the crowd proves too unruly for their meager efforts to calm. Several zealous citizens even shriek from the street corners, yelling about how the world is coming to an end and that final judgment is coming down to destroy mankind.
Fortunately, we are all experienced warriors. We are accustomed to chaotic circumstances.
We wend our way through the throng with little incident, moving with the flow of traffic and avoiding being trampled. However, the closer we come to the Conclave, the less civilized things become.
Mobs of troublemakers smash storefront windows and loot merchant carts, using the chaos to their advantage. Anyone who ventures too close to these brigands ends up beaten or with a knife in their gut, the crowd naturally parting and giving them a wide berth.
Several of the looters run by our position, their sacks of merchandise jingling as they duck into an alley.
People are avoiding the alleys to avoid being knifed, I realize, pulling myself out of the press of bodies and motioning for the other Nightingales to do the same. That’ll be the fastest way to the Conclave.
Not wanting to fight the crowds, we head into the darkened alley after the thugs, moving swiftly with our dark cloaks trailing behind us. It isn’t long, though, before dark shapes begin to swarm around us, sizing us up like wolves sizing up their prey. I draw my belt knife and Owyn’s hatchet, brandishing the weapons along with the others in a threatening manner. The thugs eye our blades, still coated in dry blood, then back away, apparently deciding that robbing us would be too much trouble.
Without breaking stride, we continue through the alleys, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood on our flight to the center of the city. The way proves much quicker than braving the streets had been, and we close the distance in less than an hour.
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