Litany of Wrath

by Levi Pfeiffer

  The western continent had fallen by degrees until the last city, Braldoan, had fallen. The wasteland of cinder and ash held all the known former civilized lands. The reason for why it existed was still unknown. The eastern continent, of which Entigria was the chief city, had never seen any corruption. The prevailing opinion was that when the cinders reached the ocean that they would simply burn out. Maybe it would be generations before the smoldering land could be returned to. Whatever the cause, the east was safe, for the intelligence displayed by their enemy in no way indicated ability to portal or to build ships. Their appearance in the west was a mystery, but then the western continent had never been fully explored. The cities there had grown and spread slowly, dependent on their parent lands, though over the few generations they had picked up some momentum in their growth. The average citizen in the east was concerned with living their lives as normal, not knowing or particularly caring about the west and its troubles.

  * * *

  Shadows lengthened, extending their blanket over Tekuda, bringing to close another warm day. Reuben had another round of drinks in his hands, trying to walk carefully to the other end of the town. Rhythmic ringing echoed around him as he neared the large building of the smithy, its brick exterior losing color quickly in the fading evening. Reuben stepped into the ruddy light in the open entrance. Vern was at the anvil, beating a bar of metal. What he was working on exactly, Reuben did not know. Vern looked up, then pointed to a nearby table with one gloved hand. Reuben set the drinks there and waited. The blacksmith’s apprentice kept on with his work, then threw the metal bar back into the coals.

  “So, you came back for more,” Vern said, shaking his head. He walked to the table and, picking up his payment, he began, “You know how this town started up. Bunch of Lords figured they could make silver flow out of this grey and brown rock land. I hate them, but they were right.” Vern set his drink down, returning to the forge and began pumping the bellows. “Figured I’d get out of the slums, maybe strike it rich here. I wasn’t the only one, either. Lots of us turned up here.” Firelight reflected in his one eye, his whole face illumined by the crackling embers. “When the town was new, and the veins were sweating silver, this place was alright. Too expensive to use portals all the time, but caravans came ‘round regular like from the big city, made sure we workers was well looked after. And we worked hard for ‘em, making them rich.” The bar was drawn out again, and Vern resumed pounding the bar with a large hammer. “Then the silver ore started tapering off. Oh, it’s still there, it’s all o’er the place. It just wasn’t so easy to get to, deeper down, and sometimes not so big a haul to merit the amount of labor it took.” Vern spoke between taps on the metal, keeping rhythm and speaking haltingly when he could. “Then things weren’t so easy for t’miners either. Them as in the city sure cut back on supplies. Was even talk they’d up and abandon us here. But not yet, anyway.”

  Reuben waited for Vern to continue his story, but Vern seemed distracted with his work. The bar of metal showered sparks from the continual beating of the hammer, slowly being spread. It dawned on Reuben that Vern was not actually shaping the stock into anything, but rather keeping himself focused as he shared his story. “When the money and supplies were low, is that when you turned to banditry?” Reuben asked.

  Vern nodded, “Yes. Didn’t start that way, though. Me and some others decided we’d had enough of the conditions here. But them in Entigria wouldn’t portal us back to the city. So we headed back on foot. Just up and hoofed it one day. We left on good enough terms here, not as robbers. Well, most of us, anyway.” Vern watched the metal cooling, “Then we came ‘cross a caravan headed to this place.” He shoved the bar of metal back in the forge with great force. “That was the turning point for me. We’d been out for a week, living off what little we could scrounge off the land. We begged them on the wagon for anything they could spare.” The huge arms pumped the bellows, air wheezing from the joints due to the vigorous contractions. “They laughed, the bastards.” Vern was nearly shouting, “That was it for me. Made up my mind right then and there that I’d not die like a dog.” Then, in a more normal voice, “It was them or me, I made my choice.” Vern went silent, watching the embers as they flared to yellow white in the constant flow of oxygen from the bellows.

  “How long were you out there, living that life?” asked Reuben, his drink forgotten on the table.

  “I dunno. Two years maybe,” said Vern. He had not resumed pumping the bellows, nor had he pulled the bar out. The large man stood there, staring at the embers of the forge as he spoke. “Time kind of gets away from you out there. You don’t number the days, just the ache in your belly or how parched your throat is. But I expect it was something like that. More joined us, after awhile. And there were splits, we would prey off of each other. Lost an eye that way, but I was still standing, which is more than what the other one could say.” Slowly Vern reached into the forge, pulled out the metal and went back to his anvil.

  “So what happened then, how did you end up back here? You said something about the bandits being wiped out,” Reuben said.

  Vern took the metal and placed it on the anvil. One great arm picked up the hammer, raising it high in the air. It stayed there, held above the level of Vern’s head, as the large man paused. He turned his head slowly, one eye glaring at Reuben, reflecting the light on the side of his face. “I’m the only one as made it back,” he said. Vern laid the hammer on the anvil, then turned back to the forge, but his eyes were unfocused. “It started one night. Me and the rest was sleeping. Just had one man as guard. Next chance of spoil was still a few days out, if’n the caravan schedule was to hold reg’lar. Woke up in the middle of it, screaming and noise. Thought we were being attacked by another band.” Vern fell silent.

  Reuben watched the blacksmith, staring at the embers. A knot was forming in his stomach, a whisper of a worry. He was about to urge the man to continue but stopped. A wave of fascinated horror washed over him like an icy wave. Reuben saw, in the ember glow reflected on Vern’s face, a single channel that caught the light in sorrowful shimmer.

  Vern began again, voice hoarse and strained, “You’d have run, too. Anyone would have.” The big man was shaking now, though he tried to stand straight and still. “It all happened so quick, I was used to that. But then I saw them squat little creatures, tearing my mates open, like beasts do. I was angry. Then, with ‘em, something else, tall and armored. Cut down several of them without pausing.” Vern steadying himself, “You’d have run, too,” he whispered.

  Fear gripped Reuben, nauseating and urgent. Had Vern witnessed what he suspected?

  “Drink,” commanded Vern, still shaking.

  Reuben passed him his own drink, mind numb with possibility. Vern downed the beverage, dropping the empty vessel on the ground with a thud.

  “Now get out,” growled Vern, staring straight ahead.

  Reuben walked out, one final glance at the shaking figure at his forge, its glow slowly fading. The iron ball of worry in his stomach nearly made him retch. He could feel his stomach churning and his steps were less than sure as he walked through the town towards his small room in the working quarters. Each step, the sense of dread deepened, as Vern’s story coursed madly through Reuben’s mind. He had wanted to ask for more details. It didn’t matter. He knew what Vern had run from, didn’t he? Was there any other explanation? It made no sense. Reuben stopped, staring up at the peaceful stars. Surely Vern had imagined it, or had made it up? No, something had happened out there, no one like Vern would put on an act to match what he’d seen at the forge. Maybe it didn’t mean the obvious. Resolve formed in Reuben, slowly forcing himself to calm down.

  Reuben hung on, but it was hard. He had barely consumed any alcohol, but he felt as unsteady as if he had been at the bottle all night. He made it back to his room, avoiding anyone and everyone. He sank onto his bed, mind racing. He had to go there, that was it. He had to see it for himself, had to know what happened there by being th
ere. Somehow, that would make it real for him. It would mean getting Vern to show him where the attack had taken place. He doubted he would be able to convince him how important this was. But he had to try. The air was warm and dry, even in the dark of night. But Reuben was clammy with sweat. Waiting for light, for dawn, so that he could journey in daylight to the place of Vern’s dark nightmare.

  6 DUST OF TEKUDA

  It is held among the learned, that Ibdal and Arneph are brothers. The true nature of the gods is beyond mortal ken; yet there are many similarities between the two. Both seem to like to spread their influence with individual champions, working wondrous change in the world both dramatic and powerful. Arneph’s disciples tend to be either rogues of chance or grim and proud leaders on missions full of destiny. These very same are at times spared through Ibdal’s influence; bringing frustration to the machinations of the god of fate.

  Journal of Rufus Gallador, High Temple of Entigria

  “So, is this the place?” asked Reuben. Rocky soil crunched and shifted as Reuben and Vern walked about. The small flat area was in a hollow of the ground, not too deep, just enough to provide shelter from the wind. It also allowed those within to not be immediately seen from the outside. Reuben recognized that the area might be a suitable place to camp, but it did not seem to have been disturbed in any way. If this was the destination that they had set out for, it was a big disappointment and a relief at the same time.

  “Should be it,” said Vern, but his voice did not sound confident. They were two day’s travel out into the rugged badlands. It had not been an easy sell, getting Vern to accompany Reuben. Jessop had helped, though, especially when Reuben had explained to Jessop the necessity of the reconnaissance for the town’s safety. For a long time, Vern had been recalcitrant. Eventually, after much cajoling, Reuben had found the one thing that Vern wanted most; something that he was willing to risk his neck for by going back out into the badlands, his freedom. Freedom, not meaning forgiveness of his crimes, for such moral concern did not bother Vern. No, what convinced him was the possibility of having portal travel to Entigria. Jessop had been loathe to acquiesce, as implacable as Vern had been. The fervor in Reuben’s voice prevailed in the end, leading to their current position, the small, dish-shaped shallow hollow.

  “I don’t see anything. Just a bunch of rocks and dry ground. Not even many bushes anymore. Why would your group have camped here? It’s nowhere near any real shelter,” said Reuben. He was feeling aggravated, and not a little foolish. He had been so worked up about coming out here, and now he had nothing to show for it. On top of that, their departure from Tekuda had not been a pleasant one. News traveled fast in the small, isolated town. Jessop had wisely kept the exact details of why the two were venturing out into the wilderness a secret; however, the fact that Vern would be a free man when and if he returned had been found out. Although Vern was unlikely to be missed by any of the townspeople, they resented the former outlaw receiving any reward, most of all a ticket out of the life they would still endure. Reuben knew that when he returned, he was not going to be a popular person.

  “Weren’t a matter of liking or comfort. We had to. Last caravan we tried to rob came with bunch of armed men. Had one of them Karthild users with ‘em too. They chased us a good way.”

  As they were talking, Reuben wondered what he had expected to find after a year or more. Even if this had been the correct location, time, weather, and wildlife could have done their work and erased all signs. He’d have been happy enough to find the camp, whether or not there was anything to tell but a broken bowl or a discarded weapon. Instead, dusty rocks and bare earth did not have much of a story to tell, the area looked undisturbed and empty. Reuben looked up and down the undulating ground. The badlands were dry, a dusty place with little vegetation. Here and there rock outcroppings dotted the landscape. Occasionally, one could come across a small riverbed that had formed ages ago in a time of fertility. Strange, how much a land could change. But he didn’t need to be told that.

  “Hold on, let’s check nearer that taller ‘ill,” said Vern, pointing to a rise in the land. “I think I remember it, and we might have been on the other side.” Vern stomped away, leaving a frustrated Reuben to follow.

  A late morning wind stirred the air, dust irritating Reuben’s eyes. He took his canteen and let a few drops out onto the edge of his cloth shirt, then carefully wiped his eyes. It was a luxury he might soon have to give up, the provisions were small for the trip, only a pack with enough rations in it for about five days’ journey. After that they would have to live off the land. It was a sobering thought, water was scarce and usually foul, game equally rare as well as being wary and swift. If they did not find Vern’s old camp quickly, he would be in a hard position. Best to turn back by mid-afternoon, Reuben thought. That way, the last day might be slim but at least they would make it back. Pushing luck any further, Arneph help them, could be reckless, especially all on the ramblings of a reformed robber. What would happen if they returned with nothing to show for it, Reuben did not wish to contemplate. He sighed, and went towards the hill.

  The ruined camp was nowhere to be seen. After the argument to go, and the long hike to get here, Reuben was beginning to have serious doubts.

  “You sure this was the spot?” Reuben said. The large man, mumbling under his breath, stomped around the loose soil. Reuben was perplexed and a little nervous this far out with only a lawbreaker as company. His associate seemed to be scanning for remains of the old site, for as much good as the dry earth and scrubby plants would reveal.

  “You don’t just lose near a score of the meanest sons of bitches without even a bone left over!” shouted the towering man, chest heaving in his exertion, flinging rocks aside. Vern turned his angry face to Reuben.

  “Well, I believe you,” Reuben said, not looking at him in the eye, “but all the same, they ain’t here.”

  With three long strides, the blacksmith apprentice stood over him. Before Reuben could reach for his blade, the man had his hand on his wrist, holding him tight. “If I wanted to play you false, I wouldn’t waste my time bringing you out this far.” The pressure increased as Vern growled at him. “I don’t care how loud you scream, I could have thumped you long ago. You think I want to be out here, do ya?”

  Eyes burrowing into his, Reuben was very still. “Let go of me then.”

  Vern released his hold, stepping back and continuing the fruitless search. Tenseness still permeated the silent area. It was a small hollow in the land, not half an acre in size, but it was just low enough to shelter from sight the surrounding lands. A wary camp could lay down in the hills of the rocky badlands, but a large group always attracted attention. These small hollows were popular for that reason among the bandits. But they were not so common as to be mislaid so easily, not even from one of their limited tracking ability displayed by the ironworker. If anything, the land here looked too unused for what might be expected, which was itself more surprising yet, Reuben realized. Maybe he had been too quick to judge his companion. No point in going back over it though, he thought.

  “So what do we have then? Beasts eat the bones, someone else comes along and takes them?” asked Reuben, trying to puzzle out the possibilities.

  Vern, dislodging another rock, turned to look back at him, “I thought I’d made myself clear a moment ago,” Vern said, the banked fire of his one eye sparking back to life.

  “Now, wait a minute,” Reuben said, then he heard it, a faint rumbling deep and somehow sonorous. Both of them blanched with fear. Reuben knew in that moment, looking at Vern, that it had all been true.

  “Run!” They shouted in unison. They raced back along the uneven ground, where the small rocks shook like peas on a drum as the rumble intensified and vibrations increased. Grit and rocks scattered in a spray from beneath their boots as they accelerated away. The first steps nearly catapulted them to the ground in the groaning turmoil of the land. They both managed to crest the lip of the hollow and instinctivel
y headed along the route they had taken to get here, like rabbits sprinting for their burrow.

  The rumbling intensified, filling the air with a steady thrumming noise. Hoarse breath escaped from the throats of Vern and Reuben as they raced away. After the first mad dash, they stopped at the apex of a hill some minutes away from their start. Reuben hunched over, hands on his knees panting, seeing spots before his eyes. “It’s no use, we can’t run all the way back to Tekuda,” he managed to gasp out.

  Their sprint had taken its toll on Vern, whose endurance was more in his arms than in his legs. He had nearly collapsed when they stopped and was now on all fours, wheezing heavily. “Water,” he managed to croak.

  Reuben swung his pack from his shoulder and dug out his waterskin. Unstopping the receptacle, he passed it over, advising, “Just take a sip. If you down it like you do beer, it’ll set in your gut like a stone.”

  Vern sat on his haunches and accepted the drink. He heeded the advice of Reuben just in time, as his arm had pistoned back the waterskin to his mouth and splashed his face with a sudden stop. He forced himself to take only a few sips. Reuben grabbed the waterskin from Vern’s shaking hands. He took a sip as well, then stowed away the precious liquid. His breath was already returning to normal but his companion still looked shaky.

  “Up on your feet there, Vern,” commanded Reuben. “You’ll recover a lot quicker.” He held out his hand and Vern grabbed on being pulled up to his feet. “Just pace for a few moments, don’t stay still.” Reuben looked back towards the campsite. The ground beneath their feet was steady, but the sound of rumbling earth could still be heard.

  “What’ll we do?” Vern asked, his voice becoming steadier.

  “We can’t sprint all the way back. We need to pace ourselves, just jog steadily,” said Reuben.