Lynn and Old Bertha approached to have a look for themselves.
“Oh, my. What happened to the storm?” Old Bertha said.
Looking up, Tomas noticed that the clouds had vanished. The sky was alight with millions of stars. Rea and Ixo cast their ghostly blue and white lights from high above, with the cascade of the moon’s broken rocks sprawling over the sky.
It was far too silent. No owls hooting, no trees rustling, no water rushing down the river, no wind blowing.
Tomas left the house, the snow crunching beneath his boots. Lynn was close behind. He took a few steps towards the river that ran down along the edge of Brittlepeak, the same one he and Lynn had fallen into a mile upstream.
Their breath cast long trails of mist from their lips as they exhaled. The torches usually lit on the outside of the houses of Brittlepeak had all gone out somehow.
Others from the village seemed to notice that something was not right, having put on their coats and shoes and popping their heads out of their doors and windows to take a peek.
A light mist began to descend onto the village like an ethereal cloud from the slopes of the mountain.
Then, Tomas heard a cracking sound from the river. He watched the water instantly freeze before him as soon as the mist touched it. First it crystalised before turning into solid sheets of ice. Inch by inch, the water froze from up the river, the ice slowly making its way down towards the village. It was an ear-splitting sound, like walking on shattered glass.
Tomas was in disbelief. “Something is coming,” he whispered to Lynn.
As the mist grew thicker, the air became heavy, and the wind began to pick up again with a low howl.
Tomas turned to Lynn, pulling his old key from the chain around his neck with a single, powerful stroke. “Stay with Old Bertha, I will be back soon.”
“What? Where are you going?” Lynn asked as the boy took off into the village. She grabbed Old Bertha by the wrist, pulling her inside the old woman’s house and slamming the door.
As Tomas ran, the night appeared to grow darker, colder. The mist was breathing around him. Snow crunched beneath his shoes as he drew his sword, the key held tight in his free hand.
He was ready for what was to come.
Every instinct told him to run, to flee. Danger was coming, he could sense it.
But first, Tomas needed to do something.
Screams came from unseen folk in the village. The mist grew thick enough that it was getting hard to see as the wind blew clouds of snow through the air.
Key in hand, Tomas raced for his old home, hoping he could get there before it was too late.
But the night, it seemed, had already found him.
Chapter 42 - Aftermath
Ser Isec Batir was suffering with yet another migraine, as was often the case for him whenever he felt stressed. Despite the agony, the dizziness, and the incessant urge to hurl up his breakfast, he fought through it.
His people needed him more than ever and he would not let them down all because of a migraine.
They had started coming in at dawn. First, a squad of messengers had been sent ahead to alert Andervale to start preparations for receiving a massive host of refugees, the injured, and the mortally wounded.
But Isec had not expected so many people. Not even close.
He stood with some of his city watch atop a guard tower along the outer wall of Andervale, watching the road swell with hundreds upon hundreds of Caldaean soldiers intermixed with crowds of refugees, all returning from the armistice in Tellersted.
So many soldiers were bloodied and wounded, carried on stretchers by exhausted comrades, and some were piled on top of each other on horse-drawn carts.
What surprised Isec the most, however, was that it appeared that something like half the population of Tellersted were with the returning army as well. Refugees, hundreds, if not thousands of them, clumped together in torn, burnt clothing like scared mice, shuffling forwards with few belongings and blank stares on their faces.
What on Eos is going on?
The thing he feared most about the armistice had come true. Something terrible had happened. He had begged the king to let him accompany him for the journey instead of taking soldiers with him. But Tobius was scared, Isec knew. He and his advisors were more of the economic repercussions to Caldaea than with their safety or relationship with Ashen.
Could Isec have prevented all of this carnage?
“Town must’ve caught alight,” one of Isec’s guards suggested, noting all the burns and scorched clothing.
“Bet those Blacktrees did it,” another said.
“Might have just been a housefire, went out of control?”
“During a meeting between two of Alyria’s most powerful leaders? I doubt it. No such things as coincidences.”
Isec was not prepared to make any assumptions about what had happened yet. Not until he had the proper information. But clearly, something terrible had happened and it would be his job to organise the efforts to help all those sorry souls.
“Just my luck,” Isec groaned to himself, rubbing his temples with the bones in his fingers to try and relieve the tension.
He waited nervously for any sign of the king amongst the returning crowds, as soldiers and refugees continued flooding towards the city gate. Many thoughts crossed his mind, fear-filled worries as to the fate of King Tobius during the armistice.
Moon Mother, hear me. Please allow for the king’s safe return home.
Then, Isec breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a mounted procession off in the distance. He could just make out the spear sigil on the raised Seynard banner. The king would be arriving back shortly.
Isec made his way down the stairs spiralling through the interior of the guard tower. On his descent, he began to worry about what he was going to tell Tobius about Wesley’s actions while he had been away.
Isec felt a rush of anxiety as he was reminded of the humiliating task that Wesley had bestowed upon him.
“You will go to one of the brothels down in Scourge Alley. The filthiest, most dimly-lit, worst-smelling, most unsavoury brothel you can find… You will announce yourself to all the patrons there. Your full name and your position. I want everyone in the brothel knowing who you are.”
The request played continuously in his head. He recalled walking down Scourge Alley. The smell of stale wine, pig shit and overflowing gutters. Isec had tried to disguise himself with the hood of his cloak, but his armour caught the attention of many undesirables along the streets, wondering what a high-ranking man of the city watch was doing in the lowest part of town.
The facades of each brothel along the dark alleyway had red candles or lanterns lit outside their doors, leaving everything glowing with a seductive flair.
Whores with oily hair, dirty fingernails and missing teeth had been brushing their fingers against him, eyeing him up and down like a piece of meat, as he tried to maintain his professionalism and do as he had been commanded.
Yet, nothing had ever made him feel so disgraced as to announce himself to the brothel keepers.
It was the shocking scene he witnessed upon returning to Wesley, however, that had rattled Isec to his core the most.
Ciana, the Blacktree princess and Wesley’s new wife, huddled in a corner of the room, naked, bruised, and bleeding, having been clearly beaten.
Wesley was overly joyous to see the whores as they entered his quarters, leaving little time for Isec to close the door before the prince had started caressing their bodies and removing their clothes.
Isec had no choice but to leave Ciana there, to befall who knew what sort of fate to the questionable behaviours of the prince.
Her eyes were scared and were begging him to take her with him. But doing such a thing against the prince’s orders would have seen huge consequences, possibly even his own execution.
Isec felt he had made a terrible mistake. A mistake he had no power over, yet a mistake that was eating him up inside.
&nbs
p; As Isec reached ground level of the tower, he was shocked by the sight and smell of all the soldiers and refugees entering the city. It was far more visceral in person than seeing it from so high up.
Blank expressions, unblinking eyes. Faces, arms and legs painted with soot, ash, and dried blood. Damaged armour, weapons caked in reddish-brown blood, broken spirits.
Children wept as their parents carried them in their arms, the parents appearing overwhelmed with relief to finally be safe.
A beggar from the crowd ran up to the baffled Isec. His hair was singed, and his eyes had a look of sheer desperation.
“Please, please!” the beggar said, grabbing onto Isec’s shoulders. “No one will help me! My family! Where is my family?”
He smelled dreadful and was practically skin and bone, but Isec knew no one had had the time for a wash since fleeing Tellersted.
Isec put aside his disgust at the overwhelmingly putrid body odour and attempted to calm the poor man down. “Now, now, it’s alright, we will-”
“I lost them in the fires!” the beggar cried. His bottom lip quivered.
Isec patted the man’s shoulder, leaning in to help comfort him as he looked around for anyone who could help.
“My girl… my baby girl.”
“Did any of your family make it out of Tellersted? Have any of them arrived here?” Isec asked.
But the beggar was inconsolable. He fell to his knees, weeping and screaming for the daughter he had lost. The beggar clung to Isec’s leg as he sobbed.
Isec let him weep for a moment before leaning down and pointing. “We have people over here who can help you. They will clean you up and help you find your family.”
Isec attempted to lift the man up to his feet but he was a unable to support himself, simply too overcome with grief.
“The rain, the fires. They were so hot! My baby girl… she was burning!”
“It’s alright, take a deep breath.”
“I couldn’t get her out! She was crying for me as the flames took her! B-b-but… I couldn’t get to her.”
A lumin healer, one of the many priests of the Moon Mother who were out among the city streets helping aid and settle the refugees, saw Isec struggling to assist the beggar and rushed over to help. The lumin was like a helpful guardian, wearing white robes and speaking softly to ease the poor man’s suffering.
“We will find your family, don’t you worry. Let’s get you all washed up,” the lumin said reassuringly.
“Please… my baby girl.”
The healer took the beggar’s slouched arm over his shoulders to help him get to one of the many temporary sheltered areas still being set up in the streets.
Isec felt paralysed for a moment as he watched the poor man stagger away with the help of the lumin. He could feel the beggar’s hurt and hear the desperation in his faded voice, yet he could do little to fix the problem for him.
He truly hoped he still had family to find.
Isec looked back at the flood of refugees entering. So many poor souls, just like the beggar, dreary-eyed, exhausted, weeping and in shock.
The returning soldiers did their best to funnel the refugees in and get them food, water, shelter, and medical attention, but they too looked to be just as broken as the people they were trying to help.
Isec had seen that look in their eyes before. A long, blank stare, as if trying to focus on something far away that did not exist. Raised eyebrows, unblinking eyes, sweats, and shaking.
The same affliction had taken some of his guards in the past after experiencing particularly traumatic incidences. It was as if the shock of witnessing the things one man can do to another man simply broke their very soul in two.
Stretchers with the injured were carried through the gate. The wounds were extensive. Lacerations, hideous burns, missing limbs, broken bones, and stab wounds.
Battle wounds. What the fuck happened at that armistice?
The king’s banners appeared from over the sea of soldiers and refugees. Their horses trotted through the city gate at the same pace as the crowd around them.
Isec was relieved to see Tobius among the group, together with his two closest advisors, Oren Harrin and Hart Moralis. The pair appeared deader in the eyes than usual, clearly exhausted from the long journey.
“My king,” Isec said, pushing his way up to Tobius’s horse. “Thank the Moon Mother you are safe. We feared the worst.”
With Tobius and the royal advisors rode Baron Bennet Decaster, an expression of despair overtaking his face, like a man who had lost everything. At the rear was Sen Dorval, riding strong and menacing as usual, his enormous war hammer hanging from his back, covered in smears of black blood.
Tobius did not slow despite Isec’s greeting, so Isec was forced to maintain a pace with the horse.
“My king, tell me what happened. There was a fire? A battle?” Isec asked, eyes darting around, trying to make sense of all the confusion around him.
Had Ashen attacked? Or had they been preyed upon while returning from the armistice, perhaps? Or something worse?
Tobius simply shook his head and scrunched up his plump, sun-spotted face, as if he too were unsure of the answer. Even the king had some dark soot still staining his hairless dome.
Tobius was concise and monotone as he spoke. “Tellersted was attacked.”
Isec felt his gut twist. “Attacked? By whom?”
“I do not know.”
“The Blacktrees?”
Tobius paused. “I don’t know.”
Isec quickened his pace to keep up as the king’s horse trotted into the city. Tobius exposited what he could on the trip up to Chateau Cardell. He told of fireballs raining from the sky which had ruined any chance of diplomacy with the Blacktrees and had devastated Tellersted. He also described the ensuing attack by the Blacktree forces.
However, Isec could not understand any of the ramblings Tobius spat thereafter… talk of ‘creatures in the fire’ which had torn some of the men apart after the Blacktrees fled.
Isec tried to follow along but felt he should put it down to the shock of battle. There was no way that the gibberish Tobius was spitting could be true.
“Claws in the rock…screams, from another world…”
To Isec, it sounded as though Ashen had launched an unsuspecting siege on Tellersted during the armistice, resulting in the town’s destruction.
Perhaps from catapults or trebuchets? But why? Why attack Tellersted?
Isec was relieved that they had fled before any more lives were cost. Enough blood had already been spilled.
“We have lumins prepared to help those in need. We established some shelters for the refugees as well, and I’ve had the city’s apothecaries bring all their supplies to the gates. I’ll have some slaves get a room ready for the baron,” Isec said.
That may give Tobius some relief.
Tobius barely nodded, still staring away blankly. He did not seem to care much about the humanitarian crisis the city was facing. He was far too preoccupied with the horrors in his head.
“Where is my son?” Tobius grunted. He was growing flustered.
“Still in his quarters, as you requested, my liege,” Isec said, suddenly questioning whether he should bring up what had occurred with Wesley.
He thought for a moment, considering his options as he kept up with the king’s horse, weaving between clumps of refugees and the injured.
“My king, I need to discuss something… rather important with you,” Isec said awkwardly, not quite knowing how to word it.
“It can wait,” Tobius spat.
The king spurred his horse forwards to outpace Isec. Bennet Decaster and Sen Dorval, as well as the king’s guard, sped to keep up as they headed for the Chateau.
Isec stopped in his tracks, watching as the king’s company rode ahead without him. His guards worked tirelessly around him, bringing food, water and blankets to the crowding refugees who were filling the streets. He felt the urge to continue helping where he c
ould.
Isec scratched his head with frustration, wondering how on Eos he was going to break it to Tobius that his son was a monster.
Chapter 43 - The Rains
Chaos shrouded the snowy village of Brittlepeak as the eerie wall of mist descended from the mountain slopes surrounding it. The waters of the babbling river had frozen solid within seconds of touching the billowing clouds of pale fog. Lanterns blew out, hearths and fireplaces went dead.
A distant, shrill shriek whistled through the sky.
The town sank into an otherworldly darkness that no star nor moonlight could relinquish, as if completely swallowed by nothingness.
The residents of Brittlepeak could sense the impending doom as their surroundings sank into the unnatural. Families wrapped in thick furs fled their homes with their small children, desperate to escape. Some townspeople huddled in groups for protection barricaded their doors and windows or gathered in the market. The fear seemed to course between the sleepy residents like fleas amongst stray dogs.
Many of the men wielded shovels, pickaxes and hoes, their eyes fearfully darting around through the mist and the black of night.
These were people that Tomas had once known, lived with, grown up around. He never knew them as family, but they were no strangers either. Yet, with his key gripped tight in the palm of his hand, all he could focus on was getting to his old home as fast as possible.
Shapes took form within the clouded mist, morphing in and out of shadow and moonlight. Unseen amalgamations slipped about the edge of town, horrid screeches sounding in the night.
Tomas trudged through the ankle-high snow having left Lynn behind with Old Bertha at the old woman’s house. He was able to feel a moment of respite while away from Lynn; it was the first chance he’d had to have time away from her in two days.
Yet despite the opportunity, he was not able to sort through the mound of emotional debris the past couple of weeks had been left him with.
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