"That's not important," I reply, feeling my patience quickly slipping away. "What's important is that you get up off the ground and start leading your people."
"She left me," he mumbles, drool oozing out of the corner of his mouth. "Yvette... she took the children to stay with her sister in Tarsys. Said it wasn't safe here. Told her... I couldn't abandon my post... needed to stay, or else the king..." He trails off and brings the half-empty bottle to his lips, taking a slurping drink that doesn't seem to go down right. He descends into a fit of coughing.
"This is pathetic," Zara mutters, crossing her arms in front of her.
Squatting down, I pull the bottle out of his grasp and toss it to the other side of the room. Then, I work to pull him up into a sitting position. This proves no easy task, as his weight is easily twice that of mine.
Finally, he settles down on his rear, blinking red eyes at the faint sunlight now resting on his face.
"Listen, governor," I say, leveling a finger at him. "The Arc of Radiance has fallen, and that means war is upon us. Right now, there is an enormous demonic army coming this way, and the only hope we have is by standing together at the capital city. Do you understand?"
Prior screws up his face in a comically questioning way, his cheeks a bright red from the wine. "Wha... what are you talking about?"
I snarl, then jab my finger into his soft chest. "We need to get these people out of here – now. If anyone remains in Forest Hill, they'll be dead within the week."
A brief flash of clarity seems to enter the governor's expression, and he finally seems to understand. He gazes up at me slack-jawed and says, "Demons, you say? Light preserve us..."
"There's little time for dawdling, governor," Zara interjects, her voice brimming with impatience. "You need to get yourself cleaned up and then speak with the people. We can help."
He nods dazedly, then tries unsuccessfully to get to his feet. Settling back down on his haunches, he huffs, "Please, just... give me a moment. Then I will go with you to address the town."
"Probably best to wash up and change your clothes," she suggests. "Wouldn't look good for you to be preaching doom while stinking of wine."
He opens his mouth to retort, then sighs instead. "Aye... aye, you're probably right. Alright then, help me up boy. We have a town to save."
Grimacing at the smell, I help Prior to his feet, then walk with him up the stairs.
Drunken fool, I think, lending him my arm for support. The world's crashing down around us and he turns to the bottle. I certainly hope that things are better in Tarsys. Light knows that we need strong leadership... now more than ever.
Chapter Five
Zara
The innkeeper and his wife are kind enough to secure extra supplies for the freed slaves of the wastes, including blankets, food, and excess articles of clothing - including dozens of pairs of shoes generously donated by the local cobbler. They even insist that we invite our ‘refugee’ friends to come stay in the inn. Unfortunately, I do not think that their two-story building has enough rooms to accommodate the former slaves, nor do I think either party is equipped to deal with the cultural and language barriers as of yet. We politely decline, saddle a pack mule, then make our way back to the camp for another cold night spent in a tent.
“We should have just sent the supplies to them and then spent the night at the inn,” Owyn grumbles as we make for the field where the others are staying. “We could both do with a good night’s sleep in a bed.”
“They’re our people now, Owyn,” I chide gently. “If not for them, we probably would have perished in the wastes. We can’t abandon them now for a little comfort.”
“I know,” Owyn replies glumly. “Still, it would have been nice to at least take a bath while we were there.”
I give him a sidelong glance, eyebrow quirking in disbelief. “How is it that a pampered mage from Tarsys has a better attitude about this than a guy trained by rangers?” Though, I admit silently to myself, a bath does sound rather nice right about now.
He shrugs, the motion jostling the makeshift quiver on his back. “Just because I’m ranger trained doesn’t mean I don’t like to be clean,” he says matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t think this lot’ll care much if we spend the night with our own countrymen.”
“The greater part may not,” I concede, “but your warriors-in-training may.”
This seems to give Owyn pause, his brow furrowing in thought, and he remains quiet as we cross the final divide between Forest Hill and the desert people’s camp.
When we arrive, we are instantly surrounded by the spear-holding youths, their faces looking relieved upon finally seeing us, especially Yari’s. Being in this land with its strange climate and even stranger people must be making them uneasy. We immediately begin passing out the supplies, handing blankets and packages of food over to the men and women who also converge upon us. Almost all of them give the mule a wary eye, as if unsure whether or not the beast will prove friend or foe.
I remember feeling much the same way, once upon a time, I think to myself wistfully, patting the placid animal fondly on the nose.
After all of the goods have been distributed, Kar’ii approaches me, the black-haired maiden bundled up in a scratchy brown blanket. “Har kim tashvishlanmoqda,” she says, expressing everyone’s worry and asking why we were gone so long. “Nega uzoq vaqtgacha ketding?”
I break away from Owyn and the mule and begin walking with her to one of the many cook fires now blazing in the middle of camp. “Biz o'z xalqimiz bilan uchrashgan edik,” I explain, speaking to the innkeeper’s hospitality. “Ular hadyalar berishardi.”
She nods, but still seems a bit unsettled. Then, she asks a bit more quietly, “Qaerga ketyapmiz?”
I stare at her for a moment, studying her expression in the flickering firelight. There is fear there - fear and uncertainty. She must feel the same way as everyone else in this encampment, half-frozen and not even knowing where we are taking them. I quickly realize that they are in desperate need of some guidance, a friendly voice to explain the situation.
“We are going to Tarsys,” I say in her language, though I speak loud enough for others around me to hear. Even now, I can sense them inching closer, hanging upon my words. “It is a large camp... larger than this one many times over, with much food and many resources. There your people will be safe, I promise.”
She eyes me for a moment, then glances away, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “Va jinlarmi?” She asks, using the word for demons.
“We will fight them,” I reply simply, before turning to address the crowd. “This is our quest: to fight and defeat the demons, to protect our families and our homes. It will be difficult, and we will not force any of you to fight if you do not wish to. However, I will not lie to you - if we are going to win, we are going to need every man, woman and child to help us.”
“Amo qanday qilib biz g'alaba qozondik?” A man asks, tentatively stepping forward. He questions our chances of winning in light of our recent defeat.
I consider his question for a moment, trying to come up with an honest answer. Eventually, I reply, “I cannot promise that we will be victorious. Many people will probably die before the end. But we have one thing that the demons do not have: a cause worth fighting for. It is like a fire that casts away the darkness and gives us the strength press on.”
I’m not sure about the grammar, but my little speech seems to have the desired effect. The people listening all seem to hold their heads a bit higher, their expressions less uncertain in the light of the flames. I decide to follow this up with a quote from the Church of the Light. “Even the smallest candle can illuminate the darkest of nights. Let us be a light and not give in to the darkness." The translation isn’t perfect, I know, but the aura of uncertainty hanging over the camp mostly disperses, replaced with a new sense of resolution.
The quiet conversations begin anew as I bid Kar'ii farewell and back away, making my way over to where Owyn crouches on
the opposite side of the firepit.
“That was a nice speech,” he says wryly. “I have no idea what you just said, but they seemed to like it.”
"I merely told them what they needed to hear," I reply curtly, pulling out a piece of jerky from a nearby basket and gnawing on it as delicately as I can manage. "They were just looking for a little encouragement."
Musingly, Owyn replies, "We all need that, once in a while."
Together, we eat a plain meal of boiled grain and jerky strips, talking little as the cold of the night sets in. Even after my little speech, the mood of the camp is subdued and there is little conversation to be had. Within the hour, I bid Owyn good night and head off to my tent, eager to go to bed and get some sleep.
I know that it will be a long journey yet before we finally reach the City of Mages.
FIRST THING IN THE morning, we break down camp and begin making our way back through the woods to Forest Hill. The weather seems much milder than it has the past two days, the air considerably warmer and the snow less icy. In fact, the majority of the snow seems to have melted altogether, leaving behind a morass of slush and mud.
The climate is already changing, I think as we trudge toward the town. Before we know it, this whole kingdom will become just like the wastes.
When we arrive at the base of the hill, much of the remaining population of the town has gathered themselves together, preparing to depart. I instantly pick out the innkeeper and his wife packing a heavy-laden wagon, and the governor sitting astride a fine-looking black horse. His eyes have dark circles beneath them, his posture appearing stooped and exhausted, but his clothing is as rich and fine as ever, with an embroidered cloak and supple doeskin gloves.
As we stop before the congregation, many of the people give us odd looks. The appearance of the desert folk marks them clearly as foreigners, and dark whispers already begin to permeate the crowd as we approach Governor Prior.
“Good morning, governor,” Owyn calls cheerily, his tone causing the bald man to wince and rub his temples.
“Good, you’ve arrived,” he replies after a moment. “That means that we can now depart.”
“Indeed,” I say, pulling my robes more tightly around myself. “As you can see, none in our party has any mounts, so the going may be a little slower than usual. Don’t let that fool you, they are a hardy bunch used to being on their feet.”
The governor’s eyes widen when he sees the wastelanders, his jaw going momentarily slack. “Who are these people, Magus?”
“It’s sort of complicated,” I reply coolly. “I’d be happy to tell you all about them on the road.”
He nods, as if getting the hint, then turns to address the citizens of Forest Hill. “Alright, it is time we are off. Every second we waste puts us closer to danger. Off we go!”
With that, the great mass of individuals - including townsfolk and desert people - begins traveling along the northeastern road, making its way toward the Heartlands and eventually Tarsys. Even from the beginning, the townspeople and the desert folk are uneasy around each other, traveling in segregated groups along the path.
The day drags on and when it comes time to camp, the two groups set up their tents in distinct clusters apart from one another, both sides eyeing the other warily. Owyn and I spend a fair amount of time in both camps, mingling with the townspeople we recognize from our time in Forest Hill but staying in tents provided by the wastelanders.
On the second day we make it to the Heartlands, our long train of people marching through the rolling farmlands. The fields, once so green and vibrant, are now drab and washed-out, the snow fully melted and the grass flattened and yellowed. Heavy dark clouds billow overhead, though no thunder rumbles and no rain falls, and a dry, warm wind blows in from the west. The weather feels most unnatural, and it seems to grow warmer with every passing day.
As we continue on the road to Tarsys, Owyn and I walk side by side, chatting amiably about what we will do once we reach civilization again. We laugh, forgetting for a time the threat that hangs over us like the strange black clouds. Many give us strange looks, but we ignore them, fully enjoying on another’s company.
During one of his stories, Owyn stops midsentence and cocks his head to the side as if listening for something.
“What is it?” I ask, suddenly nervous. “What do you hear?”
“Darkhounds,” Owyn replies, then curses, pulling his knife from his belt. “I need to get Yari and the others!”
He runs away before I can question him further, the caravan continuing to plod along as usual. My hand drifts subconsciously to the talisman dangling from my neck and then, after a moment, I can hear the sound as well.
Distant howling.
“Light almighty,” I swear under my breath, dashing off in the direction Owyn had gone. Traditionally, the R’Laar used darkhounds as runners to go ahead of their armies, the beasts rooting out scouts and generally sewing terror.
The fact that they are here now does not bode well for us.
Near the trailing end of our caravan, I find Owyn marshalling a small force of spear-wielding youths, along with a handful of farmers and hunters from Forest Hill. All of them glance around uncertainly, clutching weapons that seem entirely unsuitable to fighting against demons. For a brief instant I think about gathering the young mages I had started training, but quickly dismiss the idea. They do not know how to cast any useful spells and would only give the darkhounds more targets to go after.
The civilians continue on up the road as Owyn organizes us into haphazard ranks, placing the desert spears in front and the bow-wielding farmers in the back. “Zara,” he says, unslinging his own makeshift bow, “help out in any way you can. Burn the miserable dogs if they venture too close.”
I nod, pulling my talisman from around my neck and positioning myself behind the other warriors.
In the west, coming from the direction of the Emberwood, more than a dozen black figures race toward us on all fours, emitting blood-curdling howls every few seconds. They bound over the hills, growing from specks on the horizon into the shapes I have grown accustomed to seeing: black, wolf-like bodies running with razor claws on their feet, red eyes blazing like the Hells themselves.
“Start shooting when they come in range,” Owyn says, nocking an arrow and pulling to his cheek. “They’re tough, but they die just like anything else.”
The others silently nod, following his lead. It isn’t long before the beasts are close enough to shoot.
Bowstrings snap as the archers loose their arrows, lobbing them over the heads of the spearmen and onto the charging demons. The hunters, no doubt accustomed to shooting moving animals, pierce the darkhounds with pinpoint accuracy, sending several of them tumbling in the grass. The greater number of them, though, continue forward unabated, their teeth bared as they descend on the waiting spears.
Filling myself with source energy, I utter the words of power just as the melee begins, magefyre materializing in my palms with a shimmering display of blue light.
A farmer and a desert youth go down immediately, their unarmored flesh being ripped open by the demons’ snapping jaws. Owyn, throwing down his bow, leaps forward with his knife and engages the beasts beside the other spearmen, who manage to keep the majority of the darkhounds at bay with the points of their spears.
I throw my magefyre and quickly conjure more, the magical flames engulfing the monsters in brilliant flashes of blue. Wherever I turn the creatures die, writhing in pain as their bodies are consumed.
Owyn moves like a whirlwind, weaving among the demons with his blade and forcing them back. His presence grants the defenders courage, and they fight like demons themselves, pushing forward even as some of their comrades get picked off one by one.
The first wave is repelled, but more come from the distant hills, howling and snarling as they inexorably make their way toward our position.
“I mark six,” Owyn calls glancing back at me. I repeat his words in the language of the wa
stelanders, informing them of the new number we face.
Several of the beasts lie dead at our feet while others back away, licking their wounds. Even so, our odds do not look good. We outnumber them, but they had managed to kill more of us than we did of them, our blood mingling with theirs on the muddy road.
You could end this, a voice within me whispers. Don’t limit yourself. You have the ability to channel more source energy than most... use your full power.
Deep down, I know that I should ignore that voice. Just a few days ago, I came dangerously close to burning myself out, and I still haven't fully recovered. If I push myself, I could risk doing that again.
But people are dying, I observe, staring at a desert youth who had had his stomach ripped open, his blood spilling out onto the ground. I can't just stand by and let that happen...
Ignoring the voice of caution within me, I seize upon the source power and begin to draw, filling myself with the radiating energy that makes my body burn from within. It invigorates me, electrifying my skin as it seems to course through my bloodstream. "Fos lasair!" I bellow, conjuring a ball of magefyre. Instead of throwing it, though, I pour more of the power into it, causing it to grow to an incredible size.
"Get behind me," I growl through clenched teeth, trying desperately to control the vast amount of energy at my fingertips. In my peripheral vision, I can see that the darkhounds are almost upon us.
"Are you serious?" Owyn asks incredulously.
I nod swiftly but cannot break concentration enough to speak to him. Reluctantly, he ushers the bloodied defenders to gather behind me.
Just as the darkhounds are about to lunge at us, I release the spell, spraying the magefyre out into a wide cone in front of me. The power drains out of my body, and for a moment I feel like I might black out. There is a loud whoosh and the sound of shrieking demons, but after a minute it is all over, silence filling the plains around us.
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