by John Grover
“Something has breached the wall of mist!” Sooth-Malesh called from the stairs leading to the spires. He stumbled down, nearly tripping over his crimson robes. He’d painted white runes onto his bald head. Jorrel shook his head.
The mage joined the crowd. “You should listen to Tolan. He speaks the truth. It is no sea storm. Something has breached the mist, and it comes our way. It comes for all of our lands… North, South, and West. It is the darkest of evil. My very magic has been interrupted. They’ve tried to block me from seeing their true faces, but my magic seeps through, drips and drabs.”
“Sooth-Malesh,” Jorrel began. “I respect your skills, but there is no proof that anything exists beyond the mist. I will not listen to anymore of this foolishness. Back to your posts, everyone.”
“You are condemning them,” Geyess said, balling his hands into fists.
Tolan took him by the arm. “We can’t help our comrades in the stockade, my friend.” Tolan turned to Jorrel, and nodded. “Back to our posts.”
###
The river seemed more threatening to him now, especially since he’d almost drowned in it. Pim was stubborn, however, and he would not allow this to rest. He wasn’t about to let his friends think less of him. He would prove the ability existed.
He watched the current and positioned himself, concentrating, muscles tensed. He took a few steps back, eying the rushing river. He sucked in some air, and then released it. That is why he’d failed last time: he was too skittish, too nervous. He needed to let go, be loose.
Then he felt his body easing, his breathing became rhythmic. He closed his eyes, feeling a tingling sensation washing across his face, circling around him. He wondered if his eyes were glowing. Wouldn’t that be amazing? By daylight! No one’s eyes glowed in the day. But the sensation was unmistakable: he was sure they were glowing.
One last exhale, and he was off. He exerted his ability, and hit the water’s edge in an instant. All stress flowed out of his body, and his feet carried him atop the water. He skimmed to the center, the deepest part of the river, and the cold water nipped at his bare toes.
Pim was more than half way across, and he hadn’t fallen. His face felt warm. His heart kept rhythm. His legs carried him further and further, until…
He’d made it! He’d reached the other side of the river… he had run on top of the water! A smile stretched across his face. It had been as if he were flying.
Why not go all the way? Leap over one of the trees? Yes… keep going. Take flight. Show them all: Father, and everyone!
Pim hit a boulder with immense force, pushing off of it with his legs, and launching himself into the air, letting the momentum carry him up.
The tree awaited, tall and noble. He leaped as high as he could, but came to the sudden realization that he was never going to clear it. Not even close.
He let out a small yelp, closed his eyes, and collided with the tree. As he tumbled, he hit nearly every branch on the way down, scratching his face.
Pim crashed with a thud. After a moment to collect himself, he brushed his fingers across his cheek. There was blood on his fingertips. He looked around, but no one was about. No one had seen any of it.
“That was awesome!” He burst out laughing.
Cracking his neck and his back, he pulled himself up off the ground. His legs ached, and his ears rang. Then another thought crossed his mind. He made his way back to the village.
Pim reappeared on the other side of the river with a sword in his hand. He hoped the warrior sect wouldn’t miss one blade from the armory. Poising himself again, he took a few steps back, and clutched the sword.
He let all thoughts drain from him, shook away the sweat, and focused on his task and the great idea he’d come up with.
Pim breathed in and out, relaxing nearly to the point of drifting off. Then he ran. His legs ached and his feet burned on the ground as he jumped over tree roots, pebbles, and prickly mushroom caps.
He hit the water and blinked across in an instant. When the boulder came into sight, he lifted his sword in both hands, hoisting it over his head. His feet hit the rock, and he jumped.
Soaring through the air, he again knew he would not clear the top of the tree, but that was not the point this time. He shot right at the tree and drove the sword into the trunk, all the way to the hilt. The strike stopped his journey, and halted his momentum. He howled with joy.
“No attacker would ever see that blow coming. I could come out of the sky on top of them!”
He climbed down the trunk and reached ground, panting like a dog. Suddenly, he felt dizzy as fatigue seized his body. He stumbled about until finally, he collapsed on the forest grounds.
###
Archers from Bhrungach marched on the road to the Lake Lands. Word reached the councils of Bhrungach that the lakeside villages had all fallen to a new scourge, strangers to the world. These invaders spoke in a foreign tongue and had all manner of dark magic and strange beasts at their command, while they destroyed relentlessly. Their demands had yet to be communicated. They simply seemed to delight in the killing.
This new menace made the people of the South and Glenghora look like children. The people of the North would not stand for it; they had not become hardy and battle-strong for nothing.
Farnus-Tan, general of the Bhrungach forces, brushed his white mustache, and counted the men in his brigade. He thought they had enough to at least hold off this new threat until forces from Cardoon arrived. The plan was to keep them from reaching the gates of Brungach. The lady of the Council was weary and ill; she would be overthrown easily. It was up to Farnus-Tan to keep that from happening.
“Listen for the cries of their beasts,” he yelled to his men. “They are great reptiles with four-clawed legs, and slithering tongues. They ride these into battle. We know not what these animals are, but it they bleed, they die. Sniff for the scent of charred flesh in the air. When you find it, they are close. Do not fear them. They are different, but they will fall, just the same.”
“I’ve heard they eat the flesh off their victims and wear their bones,” a young archer said to his comrade.
“I’ve heard that they’re more animal than anything else,” his friend replied. “They travel in packs and howl at the skies.”
“My skin crawls just thinking of them with bile-covered fangs and magic from the bowels of the primal dark.”
“Enough!” Farnus-Tan yelled at them. “You conjure your own nightmare. No more spooking each other. We will not fear the stories in the night! We fight for home and loved ones, and for the Lady of the Council!”
Cheers erupted throughout the brigade. Behind the archers, the swordsman marched, blades glinting in the noonday sun.
They marched another hour until reaching a crossroads. Black smoke started to cloud the sky. The brigade halted. Farnus-Tan lifted his arm. “Archers, ready!”
The sound of turning wheels echoed down the road, hissing and snarling rose from not one path, but two. The archers armed their bows. The swordsmen clashed their blades against their shields.
The ferocious sounds grew louder. The brigade found itself being approached from two sides. Their fear grew.
“Stand strong,” Farnus-Tan called. “Wait for your line of site. Sink your steel into their hides, boys!”
The horde of nightmares finally slipped into view. Drums ignited, and a whistle cut through the air.
A massive, spiked ball crashed out of the sky, slamming into the middle of the archers, scattering bodies in every direction. Rivers of blood stained the roads, and men screamed for their saviors.
Farnus-Tan’s eyes widened. All color drained from his face, and his throat went dry. Despite it all, he rose to action. “Archers, away!”
A sea of arrows launched into the air. Four-legged beasts did indeed bleed as they tumbled to the ground, oozing black ichor. Their riders climbed to their feet, wielding spiked clubs, battle axes, and cleaver-like blades.
Catapults wheeled into view,
being pulled by the horde by hand. More riders came into view, their steeds reptilian beasts with plated armor and saddles adorned with bones and shields.
Banner carriers walked behind the riders, obscured by the catapults.
Farnus-Tan tried to get a good view of their attackers, but there was so much bone-riddled armor, chains, massive shields, and machines that it was hard to focus on anything. He did notice something strange about them: a white, misty form was seemingly tethered to each of them, as if…
The archers fired a second round, then stepped back as the swordsmen rushed into battle. Their screams followed. Another whistle caught Farnus-Tan’s attention.
“Scatter… the skies pour!”
The men jumped to the sides of the road as another spiked ball, this one covered in flames, exploded over it.
Out of the trees lining the road, long, wispy, white claws reached out and tore at the men’s throats. It was an ambush. As the claws tore their flesh to ribbons, the enemy warriors emerged in their place, stalking the road with clubs and axes.
“What is that?” Farnus-Tan cried out. “What devils are they?”
Some of his men turned and ran from the battle, swords and shields toppling from their grips.
“No!” Farnus-Tan cried. “Stand tall! Cowards… do not desert your brothers!”
Men crawled on the road, legs broken, arms missing. The trees around them crackled and burned, branches crashed down on them, setting the men ablaze.
Farnus-Tan faced the invading army, drawing his sword and screaming. He would not let the city down; he would not abandon his post, or give up the Lady of the Council.
He ran through the center of the crossroads, only a few of his men with him. Most of the archers were dead, or had vanished into the wilderness. They were met with a stream of blue-green energy.
The enemy mages hurled their magic from the midst of the horde, finishing off Farnus-Tan and his remaining men. Their bodies burned with spectral fire before transforming to ash.
Chapter 3
Olani, the Lady of the Council in Bhrungach, stood in her study, tracing the patterns in the wallpaper again and again. She was greatly troubled with the news from the Lake Lands. It wasn’t enough that she had to endure conflict with the people of the South? Now a new enemy had risen to make war on her people. What had she done to deserve all of this?
She paced at the back of the room and leaned on the mantle of the huge fireplace for support. Her reflection stared back at her from the surface of the gold candlesticks: such a pale, thin face.
A soft knock came from the door. “Enter.” A servant girl came in with a steaming cup of tea. “Thank you.” She took the cup gingerly and raised it to her chapped lips, sipping with caution.
As the servant left, a tall, thin man came in past her. He shut the door behind him. “M’lady, you should be in your chambers, in bed. You are not well.”
“My people need me, Nachin. Our lands are being invaded. The villages are being destroyed as we speak. I cannot resign myself to bed while they suffer.”
“And you cannot help them if you collapse and expire. The rest of the council can handle this trouble.”
“The rest of the council would just love to operate without my input, wouldn’t they, Nachin?”
“M’lady?”
“Don’t take me for a fool. I know about the whispers and stares. I know that I am only the second woman to command the council, and they would have rather it have been my husband. But he is dead, and I am the council’s new leader by law. Tell them they are to make no decisions on my behalf.”
“Of course, M’lady.”
“There is dread in the wind, Nachin. The loss of Daustra, Triton and Helfex, it leaves a hole in my soul. We are their guardians. How did we not see this coming?”
“It deceived us all. Some say it is a trick of the South; that they are using a new weapon to divide our attention and interests.”
“They would never attack poor villages with women and children. It is not their usual practice. Something else is afoot.” Her hand trembled—a dribble of tea tipped from her cup and splattered on the floor. She held strong, stiffening her grip. “It was with heavy heart that I sent our soldiers to the Lake Lands with no scouting or preparation.”
“It was the only choice.”
“True. Have we heard back from Farnus-Tan? Do they know what enemy makes war on us?”
“There’s been no word so far, M’lady.”
“It’s been half a day. I fear the worst.”
“All this worry will take its toll. You should rest.”
“Perhaps you’re right. I will be in my chambers. Summon me the moment word arrives from the battlegrounds.”
Nachin nodded and bowed to her. He left the room quietly. She’d always thought he was smug bastard, but he was loyal to her family. Olani made her way to the opposite door that adjoined her bedchamber. On wobbly steps, she managed to get to her bed and climb in. She set her tea down on the nightstand to rest.
Damn this sickness. I cannot lead in such a frail state. When will the healers divine my cure? She looked out her window and thought of her husband. She could use his words of comfort right now, and his strong hands upon her shoulders. He was taken too soon from her. The Gods of Brungach were angry on that day, and had struck him down. If only she had offered them more fitting tokens, perhaps they would have spared him.
Now they sent new evil to test her and the Northlands. Why has Farnus-Tan not sent word? Perhaps it was time to commune with Cardoon, the richest and most powerful city in all of Athora. If this was too big for her to manage, what alternative was there?
She would bring the order to the council after she rested.
###
At the edge of the village, away from the prying eyes of his father, Pim practiced his swordplay on one of the carved totems. It stood about eight or nine feet tall, and had many different animals and faces leering at him: gaping mouths, bird-like beaks, were meant to represent the First People, the eyes of Thet, the father of all.
“Blasphemy!”
Pim turned with his heart in his throat. Ono stood laughing at him. “Away, I am busy slaying my enemy.”
“If the Order of Thet catches you, they will cry blasphemy just as I have. And you will be whipped in the village center for all to see. You better cut that out. Who are you slaying, anyway? Your little brother?”
“No, the Fire Elemental, or the undead of the swamps.”
“Really? Can I join you?”
“I’m not playing. I’m training.”
“Sure you are.”
“It’s true. I’m going to join the Warrior sect when I come of age.”
“You may have use for your sword before that.”
“What do you mean?”
“The traders that came this morning? They were gypsies from the forest.”
“So?”
“They heard talk on the roads. Something came through the wall of mist last night. Out on the Red Coast.”
“Impossible. There is nothing beyond the mist. It’s been there for ages. The land just drops off into the darkness.”
“I’m not so sure. They said it was something terrible, something evil with an undying hunger. All of Athora is in danger.”
“It’s nonsense. Just stories, like the First People and the father Thet, who poured the dawn into the water and created land.”
“Ah, believe what you want… like how we can run on top of water and leap over trees. Those are stories, too, aren’t they?” Ono skipped off to join the others boys, running with the dogs.
Pim stood pondering for a moment, replaying Ono’s last words in his mind. What if it were true? What if something had come through the mist? His skill would be needed now more than ever. He was glad he picked the warrior sect: now he could serve his people and be more than just a farmer. In all honesty, the idea of a new danger actually excited him, and he relished it.
“I’m telling Father!” Tal cried, p
ointing at Pim’s sword.
“No you’re not.”
Tal dashed off to the village, using his fleet of foot, but Pim was older and much faster than his little brother. He chased after him, leaving his sword behind.
###
“You can’t send out two more Circle Guards—the other two haven’t come back yet.” Tolan argued with Jorrel.
“And how else do you suppose we track them down?”
“Dispatch a battalion. Something’s wrong.”
“I told you before, it’s an overreaction. We’re not going to alarm the entire kingdom. We’ll send out the normal rotation and have them report back, or perform search and rescue. That is all.”
Tolan sneered, but said nothing further. He left the watchtower and stormed down the stairs.
At the foot of the black spires, Tolan began to climb the steps, twisting around and around. A flock of crawmares fluttered past him, dropping black feathers as they went. Not a good sign. He climbed steeper, and was nearly out of breath when a stench rose in his nostrils. Rounding the last corner, he came to a wooden door with a moon and stars carved into it: the chamber of Sooth-Malesh.
Tolan knocked hard. “Wizard, I seek an audience. I believe you. Sooth-Malesh?”
The door creaked open and the darkness slithered out. Incense, stinkweed, and soot filled Tolan’s senses. His eyes watered.
“Come…” Sooth-Malesh beckoned.
The young warrior entered slowly, candles igniting one by one as he walked. Walls lined with bookshelves took shape, ancient tomes, and musty volumes crowded the shelves, which sagged from the weight.
A table in disarray with all manner of flask, bottle, mortar and pestle, herb, and oil appeared on his left. Pedestals flanked the corners, sconces held yet more candles. Trunks of magical items were stacked against brick walls, rugs of various shapes and sizes layered the floor.
To the back of the room, up some stone steps, Tolan noticed more doors. Some led to even higher reaches of the spires, and some led out to bridges that connect the six spires to one another.