Fallen Ambitions

by Vann, Eric J.

  Aziel remained silent as he tried to appreciate the scope of the information he had just been given. How much had the Seed diverted things from their natural path? Then there was the other critical piece of news which Neruul had revealed as if it was commonplace knowledge.

  Races from other realms were here. The Nexus’s words once again echoed into his head: planted races, it had called them.

  “How many races were planted? In Kadora, I mean?” Aziel asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

  “Today…” Neruul shook his head, a tired look taking root in his face. “Today, the vast majority of races are planted. Humans, elves, and Beastkin are the most prominent, all brought from other Realms.”

  Aziel found himself frowning now. Manipulations of fertility… It was an effective strategy if one had the ability and time to implement it, but it was also horrifyingly cruel. These poor creatures would be robbed of their ability to have their own offspring… a notion which triggered Aziel’s own insecurity on the matter.

  What if the Seed had done the same to him? How much would he regret his decision to hold off his chances of having his own? He was marked, after all. His gaze drifted to his wrist.

  Keeping his growing fears to himself, he asked the question which had sprung into his mind the moment the idea of manipulating fertility was mentioned. “I heard demons cannot reproduce—Succubi, for example. Is that the Seed’s doing also?”

  Aziel hadn’t thought it was possible, but Neruul’s frown grew even deeper. “Demons…” he murmured, his head shaking slightly as he took another puff on his pipe. “If there is a single group of races who deserve a chance at retribution, it is demons.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Many magically gifted races had their ability to reproduce challenged. Drakes, Dryads, Valkyrie, Phoenixes… and most others. Demons, on the other hand, would have been wiped out if not for the nature of demonic mana, which will always create more of them. Instead of making it difficult, the Seed made it impossible for them to reproduce—overnight. In some cases, they were robbed of their fertility, but in others, the Seed went even further. You asked about the Succubi; they were interfered with twice. First, it eliminated the ability of their race to birth males. But many Succubi were able to build relations with other races—it was a Succubus who created the Demonic Union ritual, for example. Of course, the Seed then manipulated things again, so in the end, they were made completely infertile.”

  Aziel bit his lower lip. He did not know how Celia would react to knowing the ritual which had so terrified her was derived from a ritual created by one of her own kind a long time ago. “Why were demons so aggressively attacked?”

  “As I mentioned, demonic mana originates in Kadora. Demons represented the vast majority of the earliest creatures to walk its surface, and therefore were the oldest and most powerful. They were also fiercely loyal to the Nexus and its Sovereign. Being a mana type the Seed had never confronted before, demonic mana was also effective against even the Seed’s most powerful defenses… Kadora was simply too dangerous with demons on its side. The Seed and its agents wanted them gone. So, they got rid of them.” Neruul gave another sad shake of his head.

  Aziel was just about to ask another question when Kavali raised her massive maul to her shoulder. “Korry malat,” she said, and from her tone and the annoyed look on her face, Aziel didn’t need a translation to infer she was growing impatient.

  “If I defeat you without the use of my magic, will you submit to my faction?” Aziel asked as he tried to formulate a plan of attack. As Neruul had said, there would be time to discuss these things in further detail at a later time.

  “Karaleen saruchi tuli.” She spun the maul and dropped the head on the ground. Even without putting any force behind it, it cracked the rock of the fort’s floor.

  “If you defeat her honorably, her clan will join your faction. She cannot speak for the other khans,” Neruul translated.

  “Norin karaleen minoori narath,” she then said, lifting her chin.

  “If she wins, you will become her personal servant,” Neruul said shortly.

  A low hiss escaped Astrel at his words, but Aziel smiled at her and shook his head. He then placed a hand on his armored bracers. His whole outfit was enchanted, so he would have to undress. That wasn’t much of an issue—while his armor was powerful in many ways, he didn’t think for a second it would stand up to a direct strike from Kavali’s maul. He then realized that his blade was also heavily enchanted, even if he did not activate it. That was a problem. Frowning, Aziel thought for a moment. “Does anyone by any chance have a spare blade?”

  Kavali sniffed. “Marsa nikseeri makada, untara nuruth sakeer. Khan nudoori balateeth.” Her expression was neutral, bringing further attention to her soft facial features, which were in stark contrast to the enormous strength her heavily muscled and toned body held within. She began to leave, but stopped when she reached the doorway, half turning to watch Aziel, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Nanatheel,” she said in an almost amused tone, before promptly exiting the room.

  Aziel tracked her vessel out of the fort and down the long stairs which led away from ridge before he turned to Neruul with a raised eyebrow.

  The old Ogre’i was smiling. “She accepts your challenge, but you will fight on a later time. She wishes to crush the legendary Sovereign’s chosen before a gathering of the other khans. In the meantime, you can find another stick to fight with.”

  “Stick?” Aziel said as he glanced at his blade. He hadn’t failed to notice the legendary part. Thankfully, the Ogre’i didn’t appear to share the same legend-worship the Grauda did. It was uncomfortable enough having one race look at him the way they did; Aziel didn’t think he could handle the Ogre’i doing the same.

  He was about to retire to bed with Astrel when he remembered the last word Kavali said before her departure.

  “What was it she said? Nara… Naratheel? What does that mean?”

  Neruul smiled. “Nanatheel,” he corrected. “It’s a relatively new and endearing title female Ogre’i sometimes use to call males who are smaller than them. A direct translation in this context would be…” and his smile turned into a grin, “… little man.”

  Chapter 21

  A long yawn escaped Celia as the cart she sat on bobbed and rolled its way along to Fes. Ahead of and behind her stretched a long line of other carts in this slow caravan.

  After Vhal’s sudden decision to leave, and her own unwillingness to follow the lich deeper into the Underdark, she had worked with the Grauda on methodically breaking open the many chains and locks which had kept the Wervins’ victims confined.

  Of the one hundred and sixty-one humans they found, only forty were well enough to be moved immediately. The rest needed medical attention and time to recover, while twenty were beyond saving with the supplies they had available to them.

  All in all, it had taken a long, grueling five days to move everyone out and back to the surface. The need to expand the tunnel sufficiently to allow people to be carried out caused much of the delay. When they had finished, they had destroyed the entrance for good.

  Thankfully, one of the human soldiers foresaw the upcoming transportation issue and had ridden back to Fes to gather the carts, food, water, medicines, horses and other beasts of burden needed. He also brought back troublesome news: the refugees had not yet left Fes. Celia did not know precisely what she would do when she returned, but she would certainly vent her frustrations on those mayors—along with Duren and Isaac—for not implementing what they had agreed to.

  The people they had saved spoke little on the journey. Mainly, they sat still and did what they were told in silence. They sometimes asked for food and water, but that was the extent of their interactions. They also did not appear to care that their saviors weren’t all human. After their experience with the Wervins, such things didn’t seem to matter to them.

  All in all, they seemed terribly passive, accepting of whatever w
as going to happen to them. Celia could only imagine the horrors they had gone through to break down their wills to such an extent.

  “Lady Celia!” one of the human soldiers called out as he rode up beside her cart. He was pointing ahead.

  Celia gripped the side of the cart and pulled herself to her feet, twisting to see what he was pointing at. She blinked a few times as she tried to understand what she was witnessing.

  Fes was on the horizon, but the refugee camp surrounding it was several times its original size. Even as she watched, long streams of people were approaching from the south and southeast and spilling into it.

  Not only that, but a group of humans on horseback had broken away from the camp and were riding in her direction. She recognized Duren and Issac at the head of the formation.

  “Lady Celia,” Duren said, as he pulled on the reins of his horse to draw up next to her cart. Issac did the same, nodding his head in greeting. “It is good to see you again.”

  “Hello to you both. I expect a convincing and tantalizing explanation for what I am seeing,” Celia said, her gaze drifting over the refugee camp once more.

  “Yes…” Duren said, elongating the word as he twisted his head to watch the growing camp. “We will get to that soon. First, to congratulate you on the success of your mission! I am certain these people’s families will be overjoyed with their return.” He looked back over the long caravan trailing Celia’s cart. “Is Vhal’nuel not joining us?”

  Celia shook her head, not sure what to say. How could she explain something she wasn’t sure of herself? “Vhal is busy with another task at present,” she said shortly.

  “Ah, I understand,” Duren replied with a small smile.

  “Well, as you can see,” Celia said quickly, changing the topic, “the Wervin lair is destroyed and Gorshak, their leader, is slain. How are things in the other villages? Any issues with the Wervins there?”

  Issac cleared his throat. “We have had reports of a few Wervin raiding bands in the last two days. Likely ones that weren’t in their lair at the time of your attack, but they are smaller than usual. With the Grauda’s help, we have been able to hunt them down instead of waiting for their attacks. The other mayors and militia commanders are confident in their ability to locate and eradicate them, or at the very least subdue them to the extent where their ability to threaten our settlements is negligible.”

  “Good,” Celia said as she took the reins of the horse pulling her cart, guiding it to one side and away from the path of the caravan behind her. Issac, Duren and their escort followed her.

  She halted far enough from the refugee camp to be able to appreciate its sheer size. There must have been thousands of them. “So? Who is going to start?” she asked, glancing from Duren to Issac.

  Duren gestured to the western part of the camp, which appeared much less densely packed. “Many of the initial refugees had been rehoused in the surviving villages as you directed. I’d dare say things were on their way to stabilizing.”

  “But something happened, because that is not what I call a stable situation.” Celia flicked her hand in the direction of Fes.

  “No, it is not,” Duren replied. “It is as we feared, the Jannatin Empire has invaded Maiv.”

  Celia blinked in surprise. After what had happened in Fes, they had assumed some kind of upheaval was coming—but not so soon. She once again tracked the long lines of refugees coming in from the south and southeast. Maiv lay in that direction. “So these are all refugees from Maiv?” she asked.

  “The majority come from the eastern regions, where the Jannatin Army is laying siege to Bastion,” Issac answered as he swatted away a persistent fly. “But there are also a few who came from the capital and the more heavily settled west. Those people appear to be trying to escape the draft, but they do come with troubling news.”

  “Draft—you mean a military draft?” Celia had known that Maiv didn’t keep a large professional army and instead levied the lords, who in turn met their quotas of men from the populace. She had never seen it done, however; there had never been a large enough conflict in her lifetime. “What sort of troubling news?”

  “Indeed. The Maivan military are demanding at least one member from each family, man or woman, to join their relief forces. As for the news, our friends the Black Coats have been lively in Golan. The capital was attacked, the palace and ministries bombed and torched. Many faction officers have been assassinated, leaving the faction in a precarious position. The king and his daughter are also missing.”

  Celia kept recoiling with every piece of news Duren shared. If all of it was true, then Maiv had already lost the war. She had never seen Bastion, but she couldn’t imagine it holding for too long without help. When it falls, there would be nothing to stop the Jannatins from running amok all over Maiv. Added to that, Maiv was effectively leaderless. Celia shook her head in disbelief. The Jannatins had gone for the throat, and they had completely decapitated the head.

  “Alright,” she said, tugging at her lower lip. “That is not sustainable, the faction can barely feed itself. We can’t do the same for thousands of human refugees.”

  Issac pulled out a scroll and offered it to her. “It is as you say. Fes is struggling. The surrounding villages and their mayors were told to harvest all that they could now that the Wervin threat is under control. But…”

  Celia scanned through the contents of the scroll. “… but it’s not enough. It’s barely enough for the population of Fes, without all the refugees.”

  “It is not as dire as it appears,” Duren interjected. “These people don’t come empty-handed. Most are farmers and have brought enough food for themselves and a few others. They can sustain themselves for a time on their own.” He scratched his chin. “Though of course, if left alone for too long, criminal elements will take advantage of the situation.”

  It was too big of a problem to deal with, given the resources Celia had available to her. If she could muster the entire Grauda army, then perhaps—perhaps—she could police this many people. More troubling was how much bigger this issue was going to get. The Jannatins had barely begun their invasion.

  “I need to speak to my Master. He might know what to do,” she said, wincing internally at how that meeting might progress. She was certain he wouldn’t be pleased. Her instructions had been not to interact with the humans at all. Now, she was returning to him with a crisis.

  She turned to Issac. “Is your delegation ready?”

  Issac hesitated. “Things had gotten so chaotic…” he said, then caught sight of Celia’s stern expression. “…but I am sure I can have everything prepared by tomorrow.”

  Celia pursed her lips before turning to Duren. “And you?”

  “I can travel today, if need be, but an extra day of preparation would make things easier.”

  Celia lifted the reins, and she directed her cart forward, Issac and Duren following. If this was any of the other factions, such a problem would have been halted at the border. But the Fallen were not settled enough to secure their borders; they hadn’t even pacified all the major groups operating in their province yet.

  “I could use some rest in a real bed for a change,” she announced, and as if calling them forth, the aches in her back from the last few days’ work and travel resurfaced. “We leave tomorrow morning. Make sure all is prepared, and ensure Orin knows what’s going on. He will need to keep things in order while you two meet my Master and swear yourselves to the Fallen. We can decide upon the next steps from there.”

  She had the Grove Heart, she told herself, which would secure one of the Groves for her Master. But would that be enough to keep him in a good mood when he heard of the rest of what she brought with her? A refugee crisis, a food crisis, a war between two nations they bordered… and of course, worst of all, Vhal’s departure.

  * * *

  Celia groaned as she turned in bed. She had passed out almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, but why was it so warm now? She twisted sligh
tly, her nose rubbing against something ticklish, and sneezed.

  Reluctantly, she yawned and pulled the pillow she had been snuggled against closer. Wait… what—?

  Celia screamed and kicked herself backward, the force of the kick throwing what she had thought was a pillow into the air and off the bed as she herself tumbled off the other side—twisting instinctively into a wary crouch.

  Celia scrabbled immediately for her dagger—only to realize that she was in her underwear, the sheath usually strapped to her thigh no longer here. She pushed up and onto her feet, prepared to claw at the intruder even as her mind and body was still getting used to the idea of being awake.

  “Ow!” she heard a familiar voice say before a furred tail appeared from behind the bed. A moment later, a Beastkin poked her head up and glared at Celia, one hand rubbing her head behind a fluffy ear. “What did you do that for?” she complained.

  Celia stared at the Beastkin, her eyes wide. “Melody?” she shouted. “What in the Abyss are you doing here? How did you get on my bed?”

  Melody jumped gracefully to her feet, her furry ears poking out of her ruffled chestnut hair as she let out a long yawn. “I arrived here last night,” she said, stretching. “When I told the guards who I was and where I was headed, they told me about you, so I came here. You were fast asleep and snuggling a pillow, making naughty noises.” Melody sported a mischievous smile. “I didn’t have any place to sleep, so I got into bed beside you. You didn’t waste any time replacing your pillow with me! It didn’t bother me, so…” She smiled as she pawed at a wrinkle on her shirt.