Celia eyed the many stakes. “Attacked recently?”
“Every three or four nights,” the mayor replied with a scowl. “The last one was particularly bad. They killed a young lass and her betrothed went missing, probably taken too. The pair of idiots went to fool around on the nearby hill—we didn’t know they were gone until the next morning.” The three men behind Issac had finally lowered their weapons, their expressions strained.
Celia considered this. “Issac, have you by any chance seen any Wervins leaving the forest recently? Any signs or reasons why the Wervins might want to get their hands on some Dryad seeds, for example?”
The mayor looked at her blankly. “Dryads? No, I’ve heard nothing about anything as exotic as Dryads round these parts. But then, we don’t venture far from the village these days… Too dangerous.”
Celia rolled her shoulders, which had grown stiff on the journey. It was getting late, and she had a lot of ground to cover. “Mayor Issac,” she said formally, which caused the older man to instinctively stand up straighter. “The Fallen will be using your village as a base for our mission to destroy the Wervins. I assume you have rooms and food stores available?”
“Ah… well, yes, in fact, we do. The Wervins haven’t raided the village stores—they usually only do that after they run out of people to kidnap.” He paused to spit, then his gaze drifted to the lands south of the village. “Many of the fields were destroyed but some still stand, we just need to harvest them. They’ve been ready for a few days, but what with the danger…”
“Perfect,” a throaty voice said behind Celia, and a pair of ethereal eyes suddenly flashed brightly in the night.
Two of the men screamed and dropped their weapons as they ran back into the village, while the third fell on his backside, his face frozen as he stared unblinkingly at Vhal. Celia scrunched her nose as she caught a whiff of ammonia and frowned at the man, who sported a growing stain on his trousers.
The mayor, on the other hand, stood his ground. Celia could tell he was frightened, but the fact that he didn’t flee won her respect. She turned to glare at Vhal who chuckled at the reaction his entrance had caused. “Magnificent! I didn’t even need to use my Aura,” the lich said with a long stroke of his beard.
“Did you really make your way here with your eyes closed just to do that?” Celia demanded.
“We must collect moments of joy wherever they may appear,” Vhal replied and grinned as he always did.
Celia rolled her eyes and turned back to the mayor, who was staring at them in bewilderment. “What faction does this village serve, Issac?” she asked.
The mayor glanced at her then back at Vhal, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade again. “We serve no faction,” he replied without taking his eyes off the lich. “Anyone settling these lands is factionless or has abandoned their old allegiance, for one reason or another… I suppose we serve the Fallen now.”
Celia was pleased by this response. “Well, this is Vhal. He also serves the Fallen.”
“Lord Aziel has some… unusual retainers,” Issac mumbled, and Celia wondered if the mayor had meant to say that aloud.
She shrugged. “Indeed. Are there any more settlements around here?”
The mayor seemed to shake himself, trying to focus on her words. “Yes, a few. Fes is the largest by far. It’s due east of here.”
“Have they been attacked as well?”
“No—or not to my knowledge, anyhow. The Wervins prefer easier targets: isolated farms or smaller villages, mostly. With the soldiers and adventurers gone, they began attacking anywhere not behind high walls, and only Fes has those around these parts. Most of the village folk moved there during the early days, but it’s too dangerous for the trip now.”
Celia nodded and raised one hand into the air. Four Grauda females suddenly appeared beside her, as if manifesting from the very darkness that surrounded them.
The mayor hissed in surprise and took a step back, but then took in a deep breath when the Grauda made no openly hostile movements. Celia grinned at the embarrassed look Issac wore, but kindly didn’t comment on it. The poor old man was having a strange and overwhelming night as it was.
“These are the Grauda,” she said. “They also serve my Master and will be staying and scouting the surrounding area for the Wervin camp.” Celia paused thoughtfully, before adding, “You might even consider making use of them with the harvest. They have the tools for it.”
The mayor glanced at her, then at the four female Grauda and their sharp scythe-like arms. Celia could practically see the worried thoughts flashing past his eyes. Could they be trusted? Would the monsters massacre his people as soon as they were let in? But then his expression hardened and his head bobbed slightly several times, as if confirming something to himself. “Most of the outer homes are empty,” he said formally, in a much more confident tone. “Please make use of them as you please. The village of Git thanks you and your master for the protection you offer.”
“My, my… What an unexpected turn of events.” Vhal chuckled. “I was certain we would have to kill them all.”
“Be quiet, Vhal, you’re not helping,” Celia replied curtly. “Thank you, Issac. We will do our best to bring your missing villagers back, if we find them.”
Celia could tell from Issac’s expression just what he thought of the chances of such a thing happening. But he forced himself to smile. “We would be most grateful.”
* * *
Celia stared out the window of Issac’s home, watching a group of Grauda squeeze a brown paste from the preserved food pouches that had been brought from the storage rooms at Soul’s Rest. Although the Grauda seemed to be enjoying this meal, Celia felt her stomach turn at the sight of the fleshy, almost glistening paste. Looking away, she took a swig of the tea Issac had poured her. It was bitter enough to elicit a small cough, but at least it was warm. Since their arrival the night before, the Grauda had settled into the numerous empty homes the village offered—well, hovels and granaries, if Celia was to be more accurate about it. Even so, there was not enough space for the four hundred Grauda they had brought with them.
Instead, Celia had implemented a suggestion Issac had proposed. She had split the Grauda into two equal groups, with one group actively scouting and ready to fight if needed, while the other rested and helped the villagers with the harvest.
Git itself was a simple farming village. It had a central hall only marginally larger than the simple houses surrounding it, where the villagers would meet and eat together for occasions. It reminded Celia of her town of birth.
Just as Issac had said, the vast majority of the villagers were absent, and the few that remained were those who simply hadn’t been able to bring themselves to abandon their homes. Of the fifty or so humans still here, only a few were women and there were no children. Women and children had been the first to be evacuated when the Wervin were originally spotted—according to Issac, they were the primary targets for the kidnappings.
The remaining residents of Git were less welcoming than Issac had been, but Celia didn’t take it personally. These people had lived their whole lives thinking races such as hers and the Grauda were mindless violent monsters out to get them. Although the villagers were fearful, it seemed a fear of the unknown, not true terror. They simply didn’t know who or what the Grauda were. Celia herself had been the same; she hadn’t even known the race existed until her time in Whiteridge.
But unsurprisingly, it wasn’t the Grauda or Celia who had caused the most friction. It was Vhal.
With the exception of Issac, the other villagers looked at him with true disdain. Celia couldn’t fault them. While their reasons might have differed to her own, she wasn’t comfortable with the lich either. She still couldn’t shake a deep and nagging feeling that he was hiding something, and that feeling kept her from trusting Vhal completely.
Undead creatures such as banshees and lichs were known to be cruel and unrelenting in their pursuit to destroy all life. But Vhal
didn’t appear to care about that sort of thing. So what did motivate him?
Celia watched as a villager took a wide berth around a detachment of male Grauda, pulling his cloak closer in fear. It would take time to change their views, these people living on her Master’s lands. They were either going to join him or eventually be forced to leave. She hoped they would join, as their addition might give the Fallen more legitimacy in the eyes of their human neighbors. It wasn’t like the Jannatin Empire to negotiate with races they considered “uncivilized.” The humans here would also solve one of the greatest problems facing the Fallen, a problem which grew larger and more pressing with time: food.
While the grasslands of the Central Wilds were among the most fertile in the peninsula, rivaling even Odana’s wide plains, actually tapping into those resources had not yet begun. With the Grauda expanding their population at such a high rate and their fungal farms still in their infancy, food was going to become a true challenge. Hunting, which was currently their largest source of food, was not sustainable—especially once all the construction plans her Master had approved started to accelerate. And she didn’t think the rations stored in Soul’s Rest could last for much longer.
Celia winced as she remembered the out-of-control feeding frenzy that had occurred after the Grauda had swarmed from their old and besieged colony. She hoped to avoid something like that from ever happening again.
The humans and their well-established villages and farms could help with this problem—or at the very least, mitigate it.
“Celia?” It was Issac, who sat at a table behind her.
“What? Oh, yes,” she said, recollecting herself and pulling away from the window to take a seat at the table to study the map Issac had produced. It was a small map, but contained far more detail of their immediate surroundings than the one being built in Soul’s Rest.
“Are you alright?” Issac asked, with a slight frown. “You seemed lost in thought for a while.”
“I’m fine, Issac. Where were we?”
He pointed at a region to the west of their location. “We don’t know where the Wervins live or take their… spoils… but the majority of the attacks come from the west. My guess is there is an entrance to the Underdark somewhere in this region.” He tapped a spot.
“The Underdark?” Celia repeated in surprise.
She leaned forward to study the map more closely. Though it was now completely caved in, Soul’s Rest also had a secret entrance to the Underdark. That was how Vhal believed the Caelian Empire had transported in all the material and manpower needed to build the imperial wing without anyone ever noticing. Until an earthquake had cracked it right open and she had walked in, no one in recorded history had known of the existence of Soul’s Rest—or “the Facility,” as it had once been called.
But the Underdark itself was a mystery. No one knew who built it, or how old it was. The reason for this lack of knowledge was simple: not many survived down there for long.
Like most people, Celia had simply assumed the Caelians built it, but Vhal had confirmed it existed before the Empire. The Grauda said stories of the Underdark had existed as far back as the time of the ancient Kirk’nolok Collective—though the mysterious world below went by a different name back then: the Abyssal Paths. Celia wondered if all the common phrases which used the term “Abyss” actually referenced this, but she couldn’t be sure.
The snippets of information that Celia had heard spoke of a massive network of underground tunnels, where many legends and horror stories originated. It was said treasures beyond imagining could be found down there, but was the kind of place even the most powerful and brave adventurers avoided. It was rumored to be home to creatures of all kinds, some of which had never been seen on the surface.
That wasn’t all, however. Far worse was the tendency for people to go mad if they stayed down there for too long. Countless stories existed of people turning on their parties, fleeing into the dark caverns never to be seen again, or simply committing suicide.
Celia bit her lip, looking at the map. “You think there is an entrance here?” Whenever an entrance to the Underdark was discovered, it was destroyed immediately. No one wanted to risk waiting for some unspeakable thing to appear from the world below.
She remembered Melody speaking about the Blight, before Aziel had sent the Beastkin off on her own mission. The Blight had been triggered when some human explorers had foolishly played around with what many believed to be an Underdark gate. A wave of necrotic mana had poisoned the ground and air, while hordes of undead flooded out and ravished the northern kingdoms, including Ishna Noan, the now-ruined home of the dark elves.
Issac shook his head. “No, not a true entrance. The Wervins must have dug a tunnel to the surface themselves.”
Dug? Celia pressed her lips together. She had not known creatures from the Underdark could dig their way to the surface.
The idea caused a chill to run down her spine. What if something much larger did the same?
“I will direct the scouting efforts in that direction,” she said.
Issac grunted and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes for a few seconds as though to catch his breath. Celia glanced around his modest home. It was devoid of personal items, but the quantity of simple wooden furniture and its arrangement indicated that Issac didn’t live here on his own—or had not before now, at least.
“Is your family safe?” Celia asked, causing him to open his eyes suddenly.
He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “I sent them off to Fes after the first sighting.”
“Them?” she asked.
The mayor kept his somber smile, as his attention drifted to the basic kitchen at the far end of the room. “My two wives and daughter. The youngling will be twelve by years’ end.”
Celia stood and placed her right hand on Isaac’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’ll get rid of the Wervins, Issac. You will reunite with your family.”
“Thank you. Your words and presence are comforting. The others will understand once all this is over. Your actions here will overcome their fear of you and the Fallen, I’m sure of it.”
“Perhaps,” Celia replied skeptically. “Get some rest, old man. Things are about to become interesting around here.”
Chapter 8
She awoke to a loud and horribly familiar hissing.
Celia sat bolt up on her cushioned bed, which was one of only a few in the village’s small tavern, as the sound seemed to rise all around her. The door to her room swung open suddenly, and a man—who she recognized as the one who had wet himself when he first met Vhal—dashed in.
“Wervins!” he cried, and Celia shot past him and out the front door.
The streets of Git were a flurry of activity as Grauda males ran westward, while the few remaining human women were being herded into the village hall by the men. Celia dashed to the western edge of the village, where she caught sight of the approaching horde through the wooden stakes.
She couldn’t get a clear count, but there must have been a few hundred at least. It was the few much larger figures which gave her pause, however.
Trolls. Mud trolls, from their gray coloring.
These hulking beasts towered over the rest. Their horrid eyes, broad chests and boulder-like heads were visible even from this distance. How had this village survived even a single attack from such a force in the past?
“Here!” a voice called out from behind her. Celia turned to see Issac approaching, flanked by two dozen human men. His expression darkened as he got his first look at the approaching host of enemies.
“Are those trolls?” He cursed. “And so many…” His voice lowered as hope faded from his eyes. His shock answered Celia’s question; the Wervins had never attacked this village in such numbers before. So what had changed?
Then Celia realized the answer was obvious. The forces of the Fallen were here. The Wervins no longer saw the village of Git as a source of people and plunder whenever they needed. It w
as now a threat, and they intended to take it out.
Well, she thought, they were about to experience a rude awakening.
Celia began barking out commands, and the Grauda females who placed themselves behind her hissed and clicked their mandibles together in response. Almost immediately, the Grauda formed two parallel lines behind the wall of stakes, their bows held at the ready. Celia was pleasantly surprised; Astrel must have been drilling them hard.
As the Wervins drew closer, Celia took her first good look at the creatures. They were squat, pudgy things, the tallest among them only barely reaching to her shoulders. A few white hairs sprouted from some heads, but most were completely bald. Their backs were hunched forward, and their chalky white skin was scarred by large lumps and other abnormalities. A few were even shorter than the rest and looked more beastly, with their arms and legs covered in white and gray fur. All in all, they looked remarkably like Troggs, only perhaps a little larger.
Without warning, the Wervin host suddenly halted their advance. As Celia frowned in confusion, two bound figures were shoved to the front.
They were humans, an older male and a female. Although both looked filthy and tired even from this distance, the female was in a much worse state. Her left arm was missing from the elbow down and from the way they had dragged her forward, Celia was certain her leg was broken as well. Her skin was discolored, and large patches of her brown hair were missing, as if someone had pulled out fistfuls. The Wervins cackled and jeered as their captives were forced to their knees.
Issac let out a growl before pointing at the male. “That’s the mayor of Git,” he said through gritted teeth.
Celia frowned. “And the girl?”
“I don’t know her.”
“That’s Gilly.” One of the younger men spoke up from the back. “She’s a trader who visited from time to time to bring salt and other items hard to come by round these parts. When she stopped coming we thought it was due to the danger, but this…”
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