by Paul Yoder
“Come,” called a strong voice from within, prompting him to open the door, issuing the small group inside, Yozo at the back of the line keeping an eye behind them, untrusting of any passing resident.
The room was modestly spacious, a large, well-used table at its center with chairs lining the walls closest to them, shelves and chests cluttering the outer edges of the room on the other side of it. At the desk sat a young man, shorn hair with ebony skin, darker than most from the region. The dark tattoos he had along his collarbone and neckline were barely discernable, but the subtle patterned effect, along with his golden eyes, caused the sarens, and even Yozo, to hesitate when he put down the ledger he had been looking over to consider the group.
The old guard cleared his voice. “This lot said there’s an army of arisen roaming the countryside. Figured it best they spoke with you ‘bout that, sir.”
The captain nodded his head to the old man, looking to the others, eyeing them one by one, spending a considerable amount of time looking Yozo over before saying, “Very well. This is no small report you bring to my fort. I would have details of the news you bring, but first, explain to me who you are and why I should listen. It is obvious none of you hail from Tarigannie,” he said sitting back in his chair, fingers intertwined in wait for their response.
“It is clear that neither are you. Does it matter where we are from?” Jezebel said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone, getting a stern eye from Revna who clearly disapproved of the candid woman’s answer.
Durmont held Jezebel’s gaze until she looked off to the side, irritated by her own overreaction, but too proud to walk back the statement.
The man smiled slightly, waiting a moment longer before replying to the slight spurn. “Where I come from, one takes pride in who they are, who their people are. To hide one’s birthplace disrespects those generations whom you have to thank for being here today. So tell me, are you ashamed of those that raised you enough to hide it from me?”
As he spoke, his words were measured, though not sluggish. Sharp, though not aggressive. They knew they had to tread carefully with their words with the captain.
“We have no reason to hide who we are or where we’re from,” Revna said, glancing disapprovingly at Jezebel a moment before continuing. “My name is Revna. This is Alva, and Jezebel. We are saren from the Jeenyre monastery, here in Tarigannie following up on reports of an arisen threat along the Tarigannie border.”
“And this man,” Durmont asked, eyeing Yozo intensely.
Revna looked to their companion, prompting him to speak for himself.
Yozo side-eyed the others, clearly not comfortable in the closed-door room or the fort in general.
“Yozo. I come from far to the east.”
“And your reason for being with these saren?” the captain coaxed.
“I have vowed to kill those heading the arisen army. These saren share the same vow,” he huffed, hoping to be done with the interrogation.
He seemed satisfied with the reply and returned to Revna’s remark.
“Why investigate a threat on our borders? They are our borders, after all, not yours. Do you think us incapable of watching over our lands?”
She did not like the sharp turns in tone and calculated assumptions in their motives the man employed at every juncture of conversation. She considered her answer before speaking, making sure there were no holes he could poke through in her response.
“Evil knows no borders, and neither does our commitment to fight it. We were given a vision from Sareth herself of a great evil stirring here, and we came to answer the call of duty.”
“Indeed,” the shrewd man readily agreed, nodding his head as he sat up in his chair, once more changing the direction of the conversation.
“Now then, this is who and why you are here. You say the arisen army is indeed in our lands. If that is true, where might we find them?”
Revna was about to start with the encounter at the old temple deep in the canyon, but stopped herself, knowing to mention the temple would be to invite others to know of its location, and she did not want military poking around at the burial ground of her fallen sisters.
“Our band had been surveying the arisen army east of here in the crags for days now, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Their leaders were exposed yesterday, and we rushed them. They escaped…and many of our sisters died fighting Sha’oul, the army’s warlord. He left, and so did his army. We do not know where they are now, but they were headed out of the north side of the canyon yesterday last we knew.”
The captain had listened intently, letting her story sink in before asking, “And how many are in this warlord’s army? Are they all the risen dead?”
Yozo was the one to answer, knowing out of all of them, he was the one with the most experience at that point with the enemy force. “All are arisen, though not all are human. They have many rotted beasts in their ranks—large abominations. Their numbers are great, perhaps three thousand. Four thousand at most.”
The man stroked his smooth chin, calculating while the others waited for a response.
“And how did you even happen upon this warlord’s name? We have heard rumors of arisen in past months, but even with our network, little information has been delivered.”
Yozo hesitated, considering how to avert explaining the turncoat arisen Dubix to the captain.
“A friend, Dubix, had been following the arisen lord for much longer than us. He gave us the warlord’s name.”
“And what happened to this…Dubix?” the captain quizzed.
“He died fighting Sha’oul’s forces at my side,” Yozo simply offered.
I am sorry to hear that,” Durmont sincerely offered, pausing a moment to take in Yozo’s information before asking, “What size of force was your contingent?”
“Eleven sarens and five in Yozo’s crew. We joined forces along the canyon before planning the attack,” Revna responded.
“Are you all that survived?” he asked, his tone sympathetic to his suspected answer.
“One other that is not with us survived. He’s gone to neighboring states to ask for aid and to warn them of the threat.”
“Eighteen against thousands. I commend your bravery. Truly, you have it if your story is an honest one,” he said, his voice one of reverence as he reflected upon the account.
“I cannot contend with thousands of hell spawn with the strength of Fort Wellspring alone. We’ll need to send word to Rochata-Ung and Gunnison if this is true. There’s a standing militia in Gunnison that would help to bolster our numbers, and the army of Rochata-Ung is known throughout the Southern Sands. Together we should be able to eliminate this threat.”
Revna’s relief was visible as her posture eased up at the declaration.
“But,” he continued, “before any of that is executed, we’ll need to verify your claims, which I will do with all haste. I would appreciate your cooperation while I do so. After all, if this report turns out to be true, then none understand this enemy better than you. Would you be opposed to extending your stay with us until I have my scouts track and validate this army?”
Yozo stiffened at the request, seeing it clearly as an order they could not refuse, and even Revna was back on guard with the man as she hesitantly answered, “We would hate to take up room in a military fort. I know how busy they can be. We would do fine camping outside the walls so as not to get in the way of operations.”
The smile and pause caused a moment of worry amongst all in the group, but all eased up when Durmont said, “As you wish. Our gates are open to you if you need supplies or change your mind. We have rooms to spare. I would caution against leaving the area without checking in with me first, however. You are a source of intelligence. I cannot have you leaving before we resolve this presage you have brought to our doors.”
“Our mission was to warn Tarigannie of the threat. If you will take the warning seriously, and send word to the Rochata-Ung army, then we will be happy to camp close by an
d provide aid and information when needed for the foreseeable future,” she agreed, now slightly sharing Yozo’s distrust of the fort and those within.
“Good. I will send scouting parties out within the hour to scour the land north and eastward. Within a day we should have our reports. I may call upon you from time to time. Until then, we will see to your horses and see that you are resupplied to make your stay on our perimeters as pleasant as possible.”
The captain looked to the old gate guard and ordered, “Scars, see that Revna and her crew are resupplied with food and drink before seeing them outside the gates to set up their camp.”
“Yes sir,” the guard said, snapping a salute before seeing the crew out of the room and back down the stairs, grabbing two young pages that idled near the well on break, sending them this way and that to gather supplies for the visitors.
“I see you’ve been bloodied. You all seem fit enough and in good health. Any of ya need looking over from our medic?” he asked, drawing some water from the well as a few guards all along the walls on duty stared unashamedly at the small company, causing them all a good deal of unease at the odd amount of attention they were receiving.
“No, we’re fine, just tired from the travel,” Alva answered for the group.
“If ya need cleaning, we don’t have no oasis nearby. We have to sponge bathe here. I’ll see that ya get extra water fer that,” he said, trying to help as best he could, feeling the awkward air about the group, wanting to be done with them and on with his uneventful shift.
“Lance, there ya are boy. Got the victuals?” he asked, taking the sacks of foodstuffs from the page, handing it over to Yozo who slung it around his back, bowing in thanks.
Lance, carry this pitcher for them out the gate, will ya? Garret, you too,” he said, motioning for both the hands to follow him with the jugs of water to the gate as he went to unlock it.
Scars saw them out into the night’s welcoming sands, Yozo and the others grateful they had not been held captive within the fort walls, the eyes of the soldiers following them all the way to the dune a hundred yards off where they had decided to set up camp for the night.
26
Arisen Along the Highway
“Men on the horizon,” the skulking wendigo croaked out, kneeling before his master as he reported the sighting of Tarigannie scouts riding along the moonlit crest in the distance.
“How many?” Sha’oul asked, uninterested in the news, his whole focus remaining on the task that lay ahead of him at the forgotten ruins they were destined for.
“Five,” the hunched-over demon answered.
“Denloth,” Sha’oul called, grabbing the attention of his exhausted traveling companion before he had passed too far ahead.
“Send your Oathbound to take care of them. We don’t need reports spreading of our location just yet,” he said as he scanned the horizon to see the small figures far over the dunes to their south.
“Yes, my lord,” he managed, catching his breath long enough to order the blood-soaked knight to his side, whispering commands close to its skinless face, pointing the direction the scouts were in.
Denloth stood back as the Oathbound streaked through the Seam, ripping apart the dimensions and reality they inhabited, passing through a slipstream of other dimensions, closing the gap of a mile between them and the scouts within a few seconds.
They had only been deployed that evening, coming upon the arisen army Captain Durmont had sent them to find a little after midnight.
The host was a sight none had seen in their military career. Thousands of various sized living dead marched listlessly forward across the dunes. It was a sight they wondered once reported if they’d be believed. The arisen were but myths to most, but seeing the horde of dead walking with their own eyes caused them to stare at the sight in silence, not even speaking between themselves as they took in the direness of the scene.
Without warning, a strange rippling and fraction of the air around them preceded a thunderous snap as a knight from a nightmare plunged into the midst of them, hooking and ripping off the head of the lead scout with its khopesh quicker than any could react.
None had their swords at ready, and as they went to draw their weapons, the Oathbound was already slashing into the back of the scout closest to him, sending the horse off running over the dunes as its rider fell, reaching for its split-open back before the Oathbound brought down its blade into the man’s skull to finish his struggle.
The other three turned to run, but the Oathbound fell into the Seam, heatwaves angrily vibrating around it as it opened another Seam rift above one of the mounted men, plowing into him with its full-plate armor banging the man off the mount mid-gallop.
The two fell down the crest of the dune the scout had been riding along, tumbling over and over as they both attempted to right themselves.
The scout was up first, looking around for his scimitar he had been holding before the bloody skulled knight rose from the sands, grabbing for a curved knife, having lost his khopesh in the tumble.
The man turned to run, giving up on the hope of finding his weapon, but just as he began his retreat, the Oathbound chucked the knife at the man, the blade thudding deep in the center of his back, causing the scout to arch backwards in pain, falling over to his side as he spasmed, his muscle straps completely severed, his spine sending a torrent of pain to his brain as he let out short screams, trying to find a position that didn’t blast his brain with excruciating anguish as the dark knight walked over.
It grabbed the handle in the man’s back and slid it out, causing the man to let out an elongated scream, the knight placing the blade to the man’s neck as he slit the voice from his throat, drowning it in a gurgle of blood before the scout slumped over dead.
The Oathbound looked up to where the other riders had been. They were nowhere to be found. They had long fled the scene with terror nipping at their heels.
It had failed its master’s command.
27
The Scouts Return
“Should have never entered that fort,” Yozo murmured as he ate morning breakfast in the sarens’ company.
They all shared a seat on a canvas sitting area they had spread out under the few ghost gum trees that speckled the rocky dunes, providing them a bit of shade as they awaited the scouts’ return.
“The food that we’re eating is thanks to them. We were out of water, need I remind you. If we hadn’t had entered the fort and told Captain Durmont himself of the arisen army, do you think Scars would have done anything with the report? What would we have done to feed and water our horses? They’d be dying of thirst right now, along with us,” Revna rebutted, tired of Yozo’s constant attitude of negativity and pessimism.
“At least our horses would still be in our possession,” he mumbled, finishing up his rations of flatbread and dried mutton.
“Our dead horses would be ours; yes, that is true, Yozo,” Jezebel answered, put out by the man’s persistence to kick against the route they had taken.
Clearly seeing that he was outnumbered in his view, he brushed his hands clean of crumbs, grabbed a clay mug of water and returned to brood in his tent, out of the sun.
The three saren gave understanding looks of frustration between themselves of the man they traveled with.
“What do you think became of Lanereth?” Alva softly asked, looking to her meal as she slowly picked at it.
Revna and Jezebel turned to the youngest of them, looking to notice the reasoning behind the solemn mood she had been in the whole morning.
“Yes, Lanereth. I have been thinking of her as well,” Revna said, looking out across the orange sands of the dunes that stretched out for what seemed like forever.
“We know Sha’oul worships the Lord of Ash, and so seeing the rift they opened in the temple, the probable bet is that that rift led to the Planes of Ash. It surely did not look like any landscape I have read about here in Una.”
“The Planes of Ash…,” Alva ominously
echoed, considering the implications of Lanereth being sent there.
“Would there be any hope of escape if that were the case?” Jezebel asked, wondering the same thing Alva was too afraid to voice.
“Surely there is hope. There is always hope—but of how it is possible to open a rift back to Una in such a plane…I would not know anything about that,” the priestess admitted as the three of them sat quietly contemplating the plight of their teacher.
“Hey,” Jezebel distractedly said, pointing the others’ attention to the dunes close by, looking to the horizon as two riders came galloping over the last of the dunes in a straight line for the fort.
“Those are the scouts that left yesterday,” Alva muttered, the three saren getting up from their breakfast picnic, gathering their things as Yozo came out of his tent at the sound of the commotion.
“Looks like two of the scouts have returned. It looks urgent. They may have found the arisen already,” Revna announced, catching Yozo up.
“Already? That would mean the army is close,” he said, his previous ill-temperament quickly dissipating under the news.
“Yes, they must have been on the move this whole time to have gotten so far,” she agreed, adding, “Grab your travel gear. If we are needed for the road, I want us to be ready to ride at once.”
Within a few minutes, the four had geared up, packed some travel rations, and filled their canteens, setting out for the fort just over the small dune separating them.
They ran to the gate, seeing that it was still open for the two riders who beat them to the fort, entering behind just as the new gate guard closed and locked the gate with a large iron bar behind them.
“Arisen—” one of the scouts gasped as he dismounted, the stable boy taking the lathered horse to the watering trough promptly.
“—Army of ‘em. Where’s the captain?” he bellowed, even as Durmont came down the stairs, out into the open court, Scars at his side.
“Captain,” the scout promptly saluted, the other scout falling in line behind his senior.