by Mike Simmons
“I understand what you are saying, Charlotte. But are there not countless pages of predicted events in books scattered across Venifera? Is it possible that there are scores of writings that could tie us to a prophecy that we are not even aware of?”
“Yes, we only have a fraction of the known writings of prophecy. We are even aware of events that are linked to other prophecies in named books that we do not have.”
“I’m not saying I disregard prophecy, or saying that its writings are to be ignored. If prophecies are open to interpretation, and are never black and white, and if we are only able to judge a partial portion of what is written, I will not commit myself to failure because one prophecy implies that a man born under the red star will be the only one who can defeat Aurora. None of that information is solid. I will fight for what I believe in, and what is right, with every breath I have, and I will use every resource available to me to defeat someone who wishes to kill innocent people, even if I have to die trying.”
Charlotte and Byron glanced at each other, and back at Lord Reinhold.
“Fair enough, and well said, Sire.” Byron said.
“Now, please, keep on top of the writings Byron, you are the best at what you do, that is why you are sitting here at this table, with me. I meant you no ill will; I just have to look at all sides of the puzzle. Tens of thousands of people are depending on every decision that I make. Is there anything else that your students have deciphered that may help us now, Byron?”
“Nothing yet sir, although we are certain that a number of predicted events are of this age, and of this year. We are still working on more details, Sire, you will hear of any discoveries the instant we understand them.”
“Thank you, Byron, you are a noble man. The people of Karpathos are lucky to have you working for them." Byron gave a small nod of acceptance. “Janga, what is status of our forces? Where exactly are we sitting in this chess game of death?”
Janga Blackhand sat with intimidating posture. He was twice as thick as any other at the table, even Cedric, and his masculine chiseled facial features made him look like a pit attack dog. The black shadow of a beard painted his jawline, evidence he had not shaven in a few days. The mighty plate spaulder that provided him armored protection during battle, still hung chained over his right shoulder. The thick spike that protruded from its center made his appearance seem even more primal. He wore a hefty plate breast piece, and looked as if he had just stepped from the battlefield.
“As you know, we have forfeited our grip on Darrow’s Hold. The town now lies in ruin. Aurora’s Flame Legion leveled the place. As far as we know, no one survived. Strategically, I think that may have been a good choice. Darrow’s Hold sits on the tip of the Tusk Mountain range, and is continually under attack. We had to have constant protection there because it is a cross route for Aurora to reach us. The use of our forces could be better spent. Now on a different note, we have received word from Oakridge that a group of Aurora’s Blade Maidens have sacked the town guard, and are using Oakridge as a waypoint to Tormain’s Ravine. They have been relentlessly attacking our troops at the peak of the ravine, not only from Oakridge, but also as expected, from north of Jellindor as well. We have suffered complete loss of control of the ravine, Sire. Aurora has the advantage of the pass now.”
A look of concern streaked across Cedric’s face. “How many Maidens are in Oakridge?”
“Approximately sixty, sir.”
“Sixty Maidens and they sacked the entire town guard? You have got to be kidding me! What kind of training are we setting for these guards? How are the townsfolk supposed to feel safe when sixty fighters can topple an entire town guard?" Cedric’s anger escalated.
“Blade Maidens train from pre-womanhood, Sire. That is all they do. There is no way under a non-military rule that we could compete with that sort of regime. And also, they have a Gifted with them, sir, a very powerful illusionist.”
Reinhold’s tried to put everything together. He accepted Janga’s answer, and moved in thought of something else.
“If they took control of the ravine, then why would they bother wasting their energy to destroy Darrow’s Hold? The Hold was nothing but a trader’s town. They couldn’t have gained any battle advantage by destroying it. Could Darrow’s Hold just have been a diversion, to keep our eyes focused away from the ravine?”
“I do not think so, sir. Our scout’s last information said that the women headed north after Darrow’s Hold. I wish I knew more, but we have not heard from our scouts since their last message. I fear they may have been found. I already have two more scouts on their trail, but it will be a few days before they will intercept the moving legion.”
With his elbows on the table, Cedric raised his hands to rest underneath his chin.
“All right, I need to know where those women are going. We cannot afford to be surprised by that many elementalists. Make that your first priority, General. Madagrack has finished training the Ice Lancers, Janga. I am sure you will be quite amazed at how efficient and effective they can be, even though you are not fond of magic users. They have the finest training of tactics, subtlety, assassination, and combat. Eighteen stand ready to serve you. I have a lot of hope resting on the Ice Lancers. Speak to Madagrack as soon as we close council, and have them retake Oakridge; one Gifted cannot compete with the likes of eighteen. Set station there. Kill any that attempt to leave the ravine. Aurora may have the peak, but none shall live to pass through it.”
The mighty man nodded his head. “We also suffered losses at Footman’s Hill, and we haven’t heard anything from our infantry on the border just north of there. I can make a safe assumption that they are dead. Aurora seems to be pushing north with more effort than usual. I think we need to take a stand against her, Sire. We cannot leave her to bleed into our lands.”
“We have fresh supplies in Daladin Bay. Rally our men from Meridian and Calisto to Churon, under the command of Major General Burockus. I will have the supplies shipped down to Churon immediately. With the combined forces, we will be sitting at twenty thousand strong. Charlotte, how many elementalists do we have enlisted in the Home Guard?”
She answered without needing to think, “Eighty eight, Sire.”
“Get them ready to move. They will be off to join the forces in Churon at first light. Also, gather our healers. Leave three here at the castle to tend to home matters, but we need the rest to accompany our army.”
She gave him an accepting nod.
“General Blackhand, have Lieutenant General Bloodbark ride to Greylin, where he is to take over command.”
“And what would you have of me, Sire?” Janga questioned.
“I need your services elsewhere, with me. Orlimay is the capital city of Cloudkeep Kingdom. It is time we turned the tables of advancement. We have played defense long enough. If Aurora wants war, she will now have it in her lap tenfold. We march on Orlimay in one week.”
Chapter 4 - Déjà vu
The brisk air bit at his forehead as he rolled over on the bumpy ground. With his hands clenching the blanket at his chest, he brought his lower legs up to meet them trying to shake the chill of the morning. Someone rustled around in the camp. His eyes opened in panic, as adrenaline pounded through him in his waking fright. He sat upright, forgetting about the cold, and took in his surroundings.
Edward looked down at him, smiling.
“Good morning, friend. Bad dreams haunted you all night. I warmed some water in that bowl right there. Clean yourself up a little,” he said, as he continued to tighten the girth strap around Firecracker. Edward brushed and cleaned the horses, and had their saddles on, ready to ride. The fire crackled in the pit, its small flames licking the blackened log in the ashes. “I would have awakened you earlier, but I thought you needed the sleep after all we’ve been through. Yesterday was a long day and we have another long ride to start. I’ve got the camp almost cleaned up.”
Brandon’s eyebrows scrunched together. His body ached, and his head pound
ed in confusion; he did not know how he got here, and what had happened after he fell. His mouth felt like cotton. Reaching into the small bowl, he pulled out the cloth from inside and brought it to his skin. He touched it to his face gently, aware of his burns. Pressing the steaming cloth against his skin, his flesh soaked up the heat, but he did not feel any pain. It felt refreshing, and eased his face of its tension.
“Where are we, Edward?” Brandon asked, in a straight tone.
“We are just south of the Tusk Mountain range, probably three or four hours ride from Darrow’s Hold. We should be able to make good time this morning, that is, if you ever decide to get up out of bed." Edward smiled.
Brandon nodded as he stood, stretching his body. Edward must have gotten the horses and continued past the Hold towards Victorville. Brandon examined his arms and hands; they seemed all well, but his whole body ached. His muscles knotted all the way up his back to his neck, which also had an annoying and painful kink. Maybe my power healed me? And why is Edward so indifferent?
He methodically gathered his things, lost in confusion. Thoughts of the night before raced through his mind. After they cleaned up the camp, he would get his answers.
“How did we make it this far? And how far to Victorville, Edward?”
“Lots of luck, boy. Victorville is probably four to seven days from here, depending on how well the horses ride, and whether or not we run into any more trouble.”
“Did the girl leave?”
“What girl?” Edward asked.
He about spoke of the girl in the grey robes that ran a sword through the core of the flame elementalist, when all of a sudden unclear visions flashed in his head. Brandon remembered falling to the ground after that molten ball of living flame struck him in the back. He remembered how it felt; it lit his nerves aflame, as every muscle throughout his body spasmed in hurt. The smell of burning hair and skin still hung distinct within his nostrils. As it ripped into his back, the bare skin of his arms and neck cried for relief from the blistering heat, but relief never came. His flesh melted away like candle wax from its wick. Agony wrenched his entire body as his last gasp of air ignited in fire when it leapt from his dying lungs. He did not feel the ground reach up to meet his collapsing body as he toppled, but he knew he fell. He knew Edward pounded on his chest in tears. He knew the woman in grey robes watched as Edward told her that he had died.
How can that be? Should he remember something when he was not alive? How did he know Edward cried over him, and how did he know about the girl in the grey robes? Edward could not have been confused of his death. He could Sense. He could tell beyond any doubt if life pulsed through him, or if he had died. Maybe he still can’t read my power? Did Edward tell her I was dead because he didn’t want her to know I was really still alive? Maybe Edward told her that he had died so she would not kill him, or maybe he hoped she would feel sorry for them? Whatever the reason, things were not as they should be. After Edward told her that he had died, everything went black. He did not know how they were able to travel north of Darrow’s Hold with him being unconscious, or dead, or whatever he may have been. Confusion and unexplainable images flooded him like water broken free of a dam. This was all crazy; maybe he should think things over before he rattled his mouth in senseless mumblings. Edward still looked at him, expecting an answer. Brandon forced a small laugh as he averted his eyes from Edward.
Edward seemed to blow off the comment as he smiled at Brandon. “Let’s ride, boy.”
Brandon looked around the camp and into the woods, trying to catch sight of the woman that he knew was not there. He stood and rolled his blanket, jamming it into the side of his overfull backpack. As he did, he noticed a small branch on the ground that feathered into leafy fingers. He eyed it awkwardly. This stick bore striking similarity to the one he used the night before to cover their tracks. He picked it up and swept the campground with it. The memories of their footsteps, once again, disappeared with each pass of the branch. He walked backwards clearing the remaining marks of their prints.
The two men mounted up on their eager horses, and headed north. It seemed funny to Brandon. This morning, more than any before, looked strangely the same as the ones before to his passing eye. The trees were a mirrored image of themselves a hundred paces prior. He never paid attention to it before now; things came across to him differently today. This area had striking similarities to the area before Darrow’s Hold. He wondered if it had anything to do with last night.
Brandon and Edward made good time. They limited their stops only to stretch and eat. Brandon laughed at the thought of being crazy. He could not think of any other way to handle it. He had to laugh every now and again. Everything seemed as if he had already done it, as if he was relived a dream.
The day started warming up, but a light breeze made it feel comfortable. Brandon pulled off his skullcap for a few minutes to let the air brush over his head, before fitting it tight back on again. Dim clouds sprouted up in the air off in the distance. The farther they rode, the more things got weird. Brandon noticed odd sprouts in the trees that had caught his eye before they made it to Darrow’s Hold. Odd shaped rocks were in the road the exact same way they were before. Dark clouds towered in the sky ahead of them. A feeling started to wrench inside of his stomach. This could not just be coincidence.
As they rode, the trees grew thicker together. The woods became more dense and difficult to see through. The massive peaks of the Tusk Mountain range peered over the tops of the trees off to the left. Brandon had been here before. With perplexed strangeness, Brandon glanced over to Edward. He bore the same expression that he had yesterday. He knew of the oddness in the dark clouds rising in the otherwise cloudless sky. Brandon watched him for a moment, caught up in the confusion of what might be happening. Could this be real? Could I have dreamed these exact moments? There is no way. When he dreamed it, maybe they had not happened yet in real time. Either this was déjà vu, or he glimpsed events yet to come when he slept. No. It could not be. I am only a farmer with the strange ability to help wounds heal faster. I'm a healer, and that's it.
Edward’s eyes went wide with the realization of what he saw.
“Brandon, those aren’t clouds up ahead, that is smoke! It’s coming from Darrow’s Hold!”
The impact his statement astounded Brandon. It hit him like a ton of stones. Everything fell into place exactly as he dreamed it. Everything. They were not a few hours north of Darrow’s Hold; they were a few hours from reaching it! Brandon touched his face trying to feel for burned skin. The softness and purity of his flesh brushed against his fingertips.
“Come on, Brandon! Ride!” Edward yelled as he spiked Firecracker in the ribs. Firecracker responded instantly. Brandon whipped Baby into a full run. He stayed behind Edward. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind in an uncontrollable whirlwind. Would destiny end his life today? Would they run into the flame elementalist that would burn him to death? He had too many questions. After one question, there would be ten more.
Think, Brandon, think. Be stronger than this. You are not crazy.
As the road twisted to the left, the view of the city became clearer through the barricading trees on both sides of the riders. Smoke billowed up in monstrous stacks of turmoil from blackened buildings as they rode closer. The thick smell of smoke filled their nostrils with choking strength. It was all too familiar.
Edward rode fast towards town. Brandon hollered at him.
“Edward, stop here. We’ll tie the horses up and walk in!" He shook his head. He did not mean to say those exact words, the words from his dream, but that is how they came out. Edward pulled on Firecracker’s reigns and turned him towards Brandon, who guided Baby down the shoulder of the road to the tree line. The smoke set a shallow haze all about them.
Brandon hopped off his saddle and tied Baby to a stout tree. Edward did the same.
“The smoke is going to be bad in there, old man, here,” he said, as he pulled out the thick white cloth from his pa
ck that had covered the sausage. With a quick pull of his hands, he tore the cloth in half. He shook his head again. This is crazy. With his half, he pulled the corners around his face to the back of his neck, tying them in a knot. Edward followed his lead, and tied his half around his face the same way.
Brandon looked at Edward, who gave him a small nod. They walked to the road, towards town.
“In the name of the Gods,” Edward mumbled under his breath.
The ground had been burned to blackness. Huge cracks of split earth spidered down throughout the town like cracked glass. Solid rock buildings hung limply in surreal shapes as if their rock walls went soft. The burned bodies of the townsfolk were scattered and buried under many of the charred structures. As far as the eye could see, toppled buildings heaved wafts of smoke from their burning forms. The dead were littered throughout the road, almost unrecognizable as humanoid, covered in cracked and blistered skin the color of tar. He looked up at the horror of the landscape before him in unreal remembrance. He remembered an armored body off to the side of the road. He turned where he thought it would be. In its skeletal hand, the blacked bones clutched the hilt of a melted blade, in identical fashion as he had in his dream.
Brandon released his held breath. This was too real to be a dream, or coincidence. He stared at the grotesque hand around the sword hilt. The tip of the pinky finger was broken nearly off; it swung beneath the last knuckle by a blackened piece of broiled flesh. The knuckles on the middle fingers contorted, probably from the immense heat, as if arthritis had twisted the bones into awkward hold. The flesh and meat of the hand hung in crooked, cooked strips. He stared at the image before him with appalling affirmation. He had been here before, not in a dream, and not in a rift of déjà vu. The immense and overwhelming thought of it made his knees buckle with weakness.