Tempest of Bravoure: Kingdom Ascent

by Valena D'Angelis

  As Diego rested leaned against the gate, David marched to him with honor. The commander laid his hand on his shoulder as a gesture of recognition.

  “What kind of crazy idea went into your head, Levireo,” he said rhetorically as he chuckled and shook his head, flabbergasted.

  Diego smiled and looked at his superior. “Crazy is all we’ve got, Commander!”

  The two embraced. The soldiers in the fort gathered around them and applauded gloriously. When David turned back to his men, Lynn came beside Diego and wrapped her arms around him. The captain held her and pressed her close to him. While the two remained enlaced, the rest of the Resistance soldiers sheathed their weapons and rejoiced. They were to fight yet another day!

  Brother Gideon, Ahna, and Jules had made it to the final turn before dusk. When they reached the other side of the peak, they were faced with a large ice wall that blocked the path. The summit to their right was no longer the same as they remembered. They realized an avalanche had occurred.

  Worried about the fate of the fort, Jules began hopelessly climbing the robust ice wall. But seeing Brother Gideon’s declining state, he knew the cleric would not be able to follow. So the shrike lieutenant turned to Ahna in search of the solution.

  “We have to climb along the edge of the peak”—she pointed higher up, where the high surface seemed to flatten—“there. We’ll get on top of the snow this way.”

  The group started to climb up again. They reached the flatter surface and walked atop the ice wall. They descended again, following the meanders of the snow, until they finally reached the opposite ledge.

  There, under the clawed cliff, they could see Fort Gal. Ahna looked to the snow turmoil beyond the fort that had ravaged the route downhill and everything in its way. The silence of the dead mountain rang in her head, as she pondered on what could possibly have happened here.

  When Brother Gideon gazed over the precipice, a heavy sense of dizziness overtook him, and he had to hold on to Ahna when he fell. Jules and the elf rushed down the ice wall and rejoined a familiar path, carrying Gideon with his arms supported by their shoulders.

  Dozens—no, hundreds of Sharr’s soldiers had just been taken by the avalanche caused by the rebels. Maybe only a few thousand remained in the lowlands, as so Luk Ma’s scouts had reported.

  At sunset, Ahna and Jules carried an unconscious Gideon into the fort. The other medics and clerics hurried to his help with Brother Ylwen. They brought him to a secluded room in the cloister that appeared to be a small infirmary from the long-forgotten past. Mother Divine rushed to them after she was made aware of Gideon’s critical state. She requested the others to leave so she could tend to the old man herself, undisturbed. Ahna, unwilling, unfortunately had to comply and leave the room.

  Back in the church part of the fort, the elf joined Jules who had sat on one of the benches. He looked distant, detached from the joyous sentiment that prevailed over Fort Gal. David came to them as they sat in silence.

  “What happened out there?” he asked, concerned for his companions. “Where is Rover?”

  Jules inhaled deeply. The look on his face was grim, and it held a likeness of anger. “I’m as clueless as you are, Commander,” he declared as he rose to his feet. The shrike lieutenant headed toward the cloister without looking back.

  Ahna felt his pain and state of shock. David observed Jules as he went, then turned to the elf, expecting some kind of answer from the archmage.

  “It’s a lot to explain!” she exclaimed with an awkward chuckle.

  “Try me,” David challenged. He had grown inquisitive.

  “I’m not so sure. Cedric was named, but...” she employed a dark tone. “He stayed behind.”

  As she uttered these last words, David had begun to notice the hidden distress she was in. He came to sit next to her and smiled at her politely, to show sympathy and comfort.

  “We had a victory,” he announced. “We get to live another day.”

  The night had fallen upon the fort, and the rebels were gathered in the nave for a humble meal. The announcement of the defeat of Sharr’s soldiers who had climbed the mountain had echoed within the walls. Commander Falco, despite being gravely concerned by the yet uncertain future, had nonetheless instructed the Resistance fighters to rejoice. He sat by Kairen with a group of swordsmen and women, and Diego, who had the complete attention of the company, rested by the brazier with his friends. A couple of artificers left from the Battle of Orgna had joined them. They were embracing him and Lynn, called them heroes, sang glorious songs for them around the fire.

  Jules sat in the back, with the last few remaining soldiers of the Shrike Wing. He told them of the obscure events that had happened at the temple. He spared them most of the details, but it was his duty to at least inform them of the inexplicable fate of their captain.

  Ahna, unable to eat and too anxious, stormed out of the hall and headed straight into the cloister. She walked toward the last room at the edge of the furthest corridor and shut the door behind her.

  She extinguished the single torch in a wave of the hand and collapsed to the floor. She gasped as tears fell out of her eyes and crashed on the cold ground. Her thoughts lingered on the image of Cedric. She let out a furious scream, and more tears flowed.

  Then, her mind took her to the Temple of the Four Winds, to the failed, bleeding dragon with dilated eyes and unholy fire. How Cedric had looked at her when he had recovered his human form. She curled on herself as her cries had become too painful.

  In the absolute darkness of the room, Ahna wiped off her tears and regained her composure. She kneeled straight and rested her hands on her thighs. She slowly closed her eyes and uttered a series of words desperately, in Shadow Speech.

  “Gadir Nos’ Trugū Nos’ Trugū Douëh”

  She did not need to repeat herself.

  A clawed hand emerged from the total darkness and snatched her right shoulder. The sharp edges almost pierced through her coat to reach her skin. The dark figure then came to stand behind her and stared her down. She could feel its gloom eyes scowl at her, and in the silence, she heard a soft chuckle in the shadows.

  The cringe sound muted into a burst of loud laughter. She felt a horrible chill down her spine. She could no longer move, not even turn her head to the hysteric shout.

  “The voidwalker must be so dear to you,” the shadow expressed with a shrill voice.

  Ahna, infuriated, rose to her feet and turned to the ghostly shape. In the palm of her hand, she summoned a beam of light that flashed its invisible skin to cinders.

  The shadow shrieked exaggeratedly through the room. It hopped against the wall and crawled to the corner untouched by the ray. It shrunk on itself as it laughed and yelped. She could hear it beg and bleat maniacally, like the crazy fool of a mad king. The whimpers quickly turned to laughter again.

  “What did you do to him?” Ahna cried with brooding anger in her voice.

  The shadow kept on snickering and laughing, so the elf opened her radiant palm again.

  “You failed to deliver. He died. We claimed what was due,” it declared with a strident and cynical tone. “The better question is,” it could not finish its sentence without laughing. “The better question is...what did you do?”

  It howled and laughed and guffawed hysterically and continuously.

  In a loud outcry, Ahna flashed the room entirely in bright light and collapsed to her knees. The torch was set aflame again, and she remained on the cold ground, alone. She was bewildered by the latest events, completely confused, unable to think clearly, unable to make sense of what had happened. She felt as though she had lost all grasp of her existence. Her greatest fears had become a reality. Something had gone wrong. The naming of the Dragonborn had gone wrong. A failed dragon. Whatever descended from the Heavens found its way to a dead corpse and created the unholiest of creatures.

  A void dragon. A dark fiend. Something even nightmares would banish. Something of pure horror. The anguish of her lo
ss and what had become of Cedric stabbed through her heart.

  Prophecy be damned!

  The ache was too much for her to bear.

  The door behind her suddenly opened, and Kairen rushed into the room. She came to tend to her desperate sister on the cold ground and wrapped her hands around her. The two remained there, enlaced, as Ahna emptied her eyes of her endless tears.

  In the dark and chill of the night, Ahna sat on a wooden chair in the room where Gideon rested. She stared into the nothingness, her elbows on her thighs, her chin on her clasped hands. Just Cedric’s soft voice played in her head, over and over.

  You are Arkamai, and that is how you will be remembered. The last thing he had said before he...

  She plunged her face between her hands and wept softly. Beside her, Brother Gideon seemed to sleep silently. He lay calmly, almost peaceful. She remained by him for a few moments. Until he awoke.

  “Whatever you may think, Ahna, what happened is not your fault.”

  The elf heard him speak and immediately rushed closer to him.

  “Gideon, how are you feeling?” she asked tenderly with a forced smile.

  The old man cleared his throat. “I am better than I’ve ever been,” he assured with a serene look on his face.

  Ahna, a bit perplexed by his words, wondered what the cleric had meant. As though he had read her thoughts, he turned his head to her to explain. “My time is near.”

  She gasped, she wanted to silence her tears.

  “Don’t weep, Ahna. Hope is not lost. Sometimes the gods work in mysterious ways,” he said as he smiled.

  Ahna let out a sad chuckle. She pursed her lips and pressed her eyelids shut.

  “What kind of damned prophecy is this?” she whimpered.

  Gideon sighed deeply. He, himself, was unsure. But he was sure of one thing. “As Mother Divine once said, the ineffable design may not yet be complete.”

  “Are the gods toying with us? Is this some kind of game to them?” Ahna wondered out loud, her voice broke at the final word. “Cedric sacrificed himself twice for the greater cause. He most certainly did not deserve this!”

  The cleric had no answers to give her. He remained silent for an aching moment. The soft wind whispered in the cold dark night outside the plain window.

  “What you did, the banishing oath,” Ahna began again. “With it, you banish...”

  Brother Gideon closed his eyes. She knew what horror should come next, but she needed the cleric to confirm it. It took him more strength to speak those unholy words.

  “The Undead,” he said. Ahna compulsively gasped again, and Gideon proceeded with his explanation. “The transformation destroyed him. He was enraged and afraid, about to kill us. The oath, the Stossgebet, it put him in a deeper state of terror, that is why he changed back.”

  The old man coughed. Ahna came closer to Brother Gideon to assist him. She handed him a small piece of cloth to cover his mouth as he coughed some more.

  “Varkadian Clerics my age should not speak banishing oaths!” he exclaimed with a genuine laugh. He had to cough again.

  Ahna looked to him, pained and regretful. He dismissed her sad expression with a motion of his hand. “Don’t look at me like this, Archmage. This is just the beginning of my journey!” Gideon told Ahna to rejoice.

  He dropped the tissue on the near bedside table and rested his head on the pillow again. He brought his hands clasped above his stomach and sighed deeply.

  “When I finally join Varko in the Domain of Stars, I’m sure I will understand.” He paused for a moment. “Remember, Ahna, never lose faith, that’s the only way we win. If we don’t have faith, then we have not much left.” He had spoken softly. His voice had turned to faint murmurs.

  Ahna put her hand on Gideon’s. The wise old man then let out a hopeful gasp and looked to the ceiling. When he exhaled for the last time, a solemn smile was drawn on his face. He took his final breath and closed his eyes, never to open them again. Ahna remained by his side, and she cried as she had never cried—deep from within her chest, as if losing part of her soul through her tears.

  16

  We Die Free

  At the next dawn, the clerics mourned and burned Gideon’s body outside the fort. Around the pyre, many Resistance soldiers gathered to honor the wise old man. Mother Divine gave her ceremonial blessing and said her prayers.

  Ahna, who stood alone by the gates, looked over the snow at the fire. She remained still, even after the others had gone back into the fort. When Astea passed her, she greeted her with two hands joined and a bow.

  “The most wonderful thing about Brother Gideon was his spirit,” the Mother Divine told Ahna with kindness. “But most of all, his childlike innocence. All of us can learn from it.”

  The elf smiled and nodded distantly. She recognized the words Astea had said, in her memory of Gideon. The cleric who, despite everything, always held his faith high.

  A few moments later, Kairen came to join her solitude by the entrance. “I never really spoke to him,” she admitted. “But I know he was quite fond of you.”

  Ahna breathed in slowly and let out a sad sigh. Kairen wrapped her arms around her friend to console her, even though she would not let her grief show.

  “I’m not sure what happened to Cedric, but I hope he’ll be fine,” Kairen finally said, before leaving Ahna to her thoughts.

  When Ahna passed by the clerics’ dorm, a few humble souls were packing Gideon’s belongings in a small chest by his bed. She caught a glimpse of his holy pendant. She saw the little statuettes she recognized from Orgna’s chapel. Among them was the tiny figurine of Morxairen, the god of the magi. When Brother Ylwen noticed Ahna outside the room, he came to her with the statuette. He handed it to her, closing her hand around the small stone sculpture.

  “They were Gideon’s refuge,” he kindly said. “This one should go to you.”

  Ahna thanked him and strolled to the garden of ice.

  There, she went to sit on the bench with the figurine in her hands. In the light of the sun that sparkled against the ice sculptures, the dark elf mourned. She stayed there quietly, while the rest of the Resistance gathered in the hall.

  Commander David Falco stood by the altar with grim eyes, while the rebels assembled on the benches and around the nave. To his side, Councilor Luk Ma and Captain Kairen Aquil remained stern. When everyone had reached their spot of choice, David turned to the crowd.

  “Brothers and sisters of the rebellion, my friends, we’re all that’s left!” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “The battle of Orgna led us here, castaway. We’re alone in the cold of Gal. Our supplies are depleting, and I honestly don’t know how long we have. So I come to you, rebels, for advice.”

  His coal gaze rested expectantly upon his peers, who initially stayed silent. They looked to each other, unsure, until one of them raised her hand in the air.

  “Do we know how many of Sharr’s soldiers are left down the valley?” she asked.

  “About four thousand,” Luk Ma immediately answered. His sindur scouts had informed him before the gathering.

  The rebels looked to each other again, desperate, there were only a few dozens of them who could fight. Some children looked scared. The elders in the back prayed silently. Another soldier in the crowd raised his hand.

  “Is there anywhere else we can go?” he asked, hesitant.

  But no one replied. David sadly shook his head. There was nowhere else they could go where they could all be safe. Following the heavy silence, Lynn suddenly raised her hand.

  “So, I guess our only option is to fight, right? Or else we die of the cold or hunger, or we start killing each other because we go insane!” She spoke with an evident tone, as though fighting was the only logical answer.

  “We’d need another ten of these Diego moves if we’d wish to fight!” a Resistance fighter retorted with a disagreeing laugh.

  Yet these words had given the commander an idea. The agitated crowd started debat
ing the option of a hopeless fight. Some wanted to follow Lynn, some deemed it the worst possible form of suicide.

  But David pondered on what the soldier had said, about ten of these Diego moves. Before the next rebel could speak, the commander cleared his throat.

  “How many of these old cannons did you see, Diego?” he asked with haste.

  “There’s a hidden room full of them behind the horses.” Captain Levireo replied. “At least six or seven. Well, there’s one less now. They need a bit of oiling, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” As David frowned and tapped his finger on his chin, Diego inquired about his intentions. “What are you thinking, Commander?”

  “Well, we have the high ground,” David pursued. “The encampment is in the valley. This gives us the advantage of a possible pincer ambush.”

  The crowd fell silent.

  “You want to encircle them from above?” Lynn inferred out loud, just to make sure.

  David nodded furtively. “We place the cannons on both sides of the valley, and we blast them with shock grenades from all over. We shake his entire army like Diego shook that mountain!”

  “A mass diversion, and then what?” one of Senris’ Antlers asked.

  “We set them ablaze,” the commander declared, with a certain kind of fire in his eyes. “Then, we do our best to kill Sharr.”

  Senris intervened. “Kill Sharr? How in Hell would you do that, Falco?”

  “We send in the shrikes,” Jules interrupted the wood elf. “The encampment will be in chaos. They will be rushing uphill or running for cover. Then would be the perfect time for us to move in and find Sharr.”

  “Sharr’s at the central tent—it’s not difficult to find him,” another soldier in the hall retorted. “The hard part is to get to him.”

  “We’ll be fighting at least fourty-to-one, if not more. The odds are completely against us!” the swordsman next to him joined.