The Unseen

by Gregory Blackman

  Cylena did what any well trained second would do in her situation. She took command of his men and continued their long march towards the ruins of Uyllia. What awaited them none of her men could be certain, not even the learned battle priest that remained by her side.

  What lay before them at that moment was bathed in the warmth of a golden sun that nestled into the hills and valleys all around. It was a wondrous land, only made all the more miraculous when one imagined the sight that once lay here.

  “Quit your gawking!” Cylena bellowed to those that lagged behind. “We’re late enough as it is!”

  The elven capital of Uyllia was a city imagined in the fables of man. None had ever laid eyes upon it, and yet all had heard its story. A metropolis of glass and stone it knew no rival in the world of Amor, and so it stood a shining beacon to the free world of the elves and the dwarves. It was believed to be destroyed in the Age of Fire, a fact now confirmed by the female commander as she peered over a ruin strewn landscape devoid of life but for the constant swaying of windswept grass. Yet, despite all of the stories and the sonnets, little was truly known about the city that birthed one of the world’s oldest creatures. Information the battle priest hoped to see corrected should they live to see themselves home.

  “That’s a unique choice,” Jaric Goldrun said. “Is it not?”

  Cylena looked to the man she had spent many weeks beside, still dressed down in his casual attire, as if he was never a man of the cloth, and asked, “What’s that you’re saying?”

  “The hand and a half,” Jaric said as he motioned to the bastard sword that dangled upon the waist of his commander. “I always meant to ask you if there was meaning behind the choice. It’s not every day you see one used while in the service of the high king.”

  “It just seemed the right sword to use,” she replied with her eyes locked on the ruined cityscape that crept evermore into view. It wasn’t that the bastard sword weighed just right, because it did, nor was it because the blade was just heavy enough to collapse plate without becoming too burdensome to bear, because it was. She used the sword, because, like the sword she drew on a daily basis, Cylena Barst, too, was spurious and of questionable origin.

  Cylena was born into anonymity and forced to claw her way out once she became big enough to hold a blade. She was a bastard, her mother banished from the king’s court in Ausland when her pregnancy was discovered, and made to live a life of shame and misfortune. The only way she would get the finer things in life was by the way of the sword and the opportunity it provided. So, she bought her first bastard sword and never looked back on the city that chewed her up and spit her right back out.

  “Keep up the pace,” she hollered as the ruins came into detail. “We will make camp once we reach the city’s center and then will you be given instructions on how we’re to proceed. “No moaning, no bitching, and not one damned whisper of elves unless one’s about to kill you!”

  She gave the battle priest an uneasy nod, as if she had run out of faith in him, and ushered the troops into the city limits.

  “No need to run them ragged,” Jaric noted.

  “You think so, priest?” Cylena asked as she tried to make her lips into a smile, but those lips held firm in their rigid position. “They need to know who’s in command.”

  The battle priest gave her a cockeyed look, before he looked back to the troops under her command, and said, “Of that, they’ve become quite accustomed.”

  They were days late to the Uyllian Ruins, but at last the armies of man reached their destination. While most of the elven city stood no more, its legacy wasn’t difficult to discern in the great chunks of onyx and other toppled stonework or the broad stretches of grass that attempted to conceal its granite streets. They marched to the center of the city where an ancient massive barren oak tree stood watch in the centre of an expansive park of dirt and ash.

  “Don’t look to the soldier beside you,” said the young commander as she looked upon the growing mass. “He isn’t going to do your job for you. I want this camp set up before the midday sun and if I see one bottle of mead opened before that happens heads will roll!”

  The soldiers that crowded their commander and their battle priest dispersed in all directions across the park and into the ruins, all but one of them. When all others put their hands to purpose on construction of the campsite, he stayed there, his eyes locked on his commander.

  “Forgive me, ma’am,” said the footman as he marched towards Cylena. “May I have a moment of your time?”

  Cylena stared back at the man without an answer to give. She couldn’t think of anything past this man’s appearance and the eerie similarity he shared with the man possessed when they traveled and fought in the forest, right down to the eyes of steel that pierced her armor with ease. She passed it off as her being too pensive and returned to the conversation at hand.

  “Speak your mind soldier,” said Cylena, “then I want you back to your sergeant and filling whatever post it is you fill.”

  “I was curious as to our orders,” the footman said. “The high prince told us that we were to march to the Uyllian Ruins. He didn’t mention what was to happen next. Did he share this information with you?”

  “That’s a good question,” said a red-faced Cylena Barst, her gaze directed to her battle priest. “See what happens when you ease the yoke of command? The men forget with whom they speak.”

  Cylena wasn’t so much mad as she was disappointed. She didn’t want to be that hard assed commander, the one that ran her lot ragged. She wanted to be respected, not feared, and certainly not questioned. She had a duty to fulfill in these ruins and she wouldn’t see dissension bring that to a halt.

  “Get back to your regiment, soldier,” said Cylena in a low, drawn out voice. “You’ll be notified of your orders at the same time as everyone else.”

  Cylena watched the footman with the questionable eyes turn and march away, and yet it wasn’t until she was certain he was no longer in earshot that she turned to her battle priest, and said, “He might not of had a ounce of tact in his body, but his inquiry wasn’t completely without merit. I’m pretty damned interested in that answer, as well.”

  “So,” said Cylena, “why are we here, battle priest?”

  “What do you mean? Jaric Goldrun, his brow furled in curiosity. “I hold no official command over the people. I assumed you were given the details when the high prince departed.”

  Cylena was shocked at her most trusted confidant’s response, positive for all those miles that he held the key to make sense of their assignment. “You mean to tell me that no one in these ruins knows why we’re out here?”

  “Our orders were to wait,” Jaric reminded. “They made no mention of what was to happen after we had arrived. It is quite possible the high prince wasn’t privy to any further orders.”

  “You have to be kidding me!” shouted Cylena, forgetful of the soldiers setting up their tents nearby. “The high king expects us to sit around and wait until he decides to figure out what to do with us?”

  With no other options available to the commander or her battle priest, that’s precisely what the armies of man did for their high king. They waited, for days on end, ever fearful their presence would draw out more tribes of elvish warriors. Cylena placed her tent under the single old oak tree that stood in the center of the square where no one could miss it. What this burned out park commemorated no one had discerned, but it was the topic of much lively discussion as nights grew long and the drinks grew thin.

  Cylena Barst had grown tired of her men and their constant boasting and bickering but letting them get liquored up at night would be soon corrected come next day where she could run them ragged. She closed her tent flap for the night and started to unbuckle her armor. By the time her raiment came off and she slid into bed, she was ready to declare that if anyone dared to disturb her she would be ready with training sword to spare.

  That’s when the sound of an age coming to an end stirre
d beneath the ground. What followed began as a vibration along the fault lines under the Uyllian Ruins, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Cylena burst out her tent. She was half clad in her armor and seemingly ready to take on the world, but the young commander quickly found her feet in water getting deeper. It was dark and what could be seen was clouded by a thick layer of smoke, courtesy of the many campfires that had been drowned. She found her soldiers similarly confused and paralyzed by indecision.

  “Did anyone else hear that?”

  “Are the elves attacking?”

  “Did the gods forsake us?”

  Only the nether could be home to such a sound, she thought, as the awful screech of an unknown adversary brought even conversation to an end. No sooner than the war cry broke throughout the camp, an entire row of tents in the distance were thrown into the air. Bodies flew in all directions, some dead before they hit the dirt, the others nowhere near as lucky.

  More tents began to fly into the air, all around the campsite, until even the ancient oak tree itself was uprooted from the ground. Cylena looked everywhere for her battle priest, called out for him repeatedly but he wouldn’t be found while their armies came crashing down around them.

  “Jaric!” she cried atop the clamor. “Jaric Goldrun, where are you? Damn it, you stubborn battle priest. I never wanted a hero!”

  She could hardly see through the smoke and bits of camp thrown into the air before her, but Cylena thought she saw the silhouette of what she could only hope to be her battle priest.

  “Commander,” Jaric hollered as he emerged from the smokescreen, “we must retreat from the city!”

  Cylena was about to issue the command, but her lips proved incapable of uttering the necessary words as the shadow of the beast rose from the ground behind her friend in the distance, and cried instead, “Look behind you, Jaric! You have to get down!”

  The space around the battle priest gave way to a terrible monster, its green scales covered by dirt. Each of its meaty paws was the size of a horse, with claws like fangs of a wolf but the size of a man. Claws that could sever the battle priest in half as it continued its rise from the ground.

  “What in the four pillars is happening?” Jaric asked over the cries for help all around. He was closer now, but still too far for his commander’s comfort and he pressed on through the carnage to reach her. “Surely the gods must know!”

  “To the nether with the gods,” Cylena shouted back. “If they exist at all they exist to spite us—!”

  Those were the last words Cylena Barst spoke to her battle priest, a callous mocking of everything he had held dear. He was crushed into the earth by that same paw that nearly took him before, buried on a battlefield that had been their camp minutes before. He lived for the cloth. He bled for the cloth. Now Jaric Goldrun lay dead in the same cloth that sent him here, that sent everyone here to perish.

  “Retreat!” she bellowed to those in her army that still drew breath. “I want everyone to head south to the Lake of Uyl! You hear me? Everyone has to head for the lake—!”

  Cylena was struck in the helm by falling debris, so forceful that it took the commander off her feet and down to the now blood-soaked mud. She couldn’t help her soldiers, she couldn’t even help herself. That’s when fire cascaded down around the campsite and broke what little will remained within her grasp.

  Cylena’s eyes started to weigh on her. The sight of her armies destruction was too much to bear. She saw everything as if it were slowed to a tenth, bodies that fell and burst or hacked to pieces, others burned alive as they flailed around and monsters all about.

  It all went black for the young commander as the herald of a new age awoke from the ground beneath the Uyllian Ruins. It was covered in scaly green armor with massive wings of crimson and breath of molten lava that rained fire down upon everything and every poor soul in its path and they were many. Enough to let the armies of man know that it did not fear them.

  This would be the beast upon which the world of man crumbled. It knew not of suffering and of regret. It was beyond suffering, beyond regret. This being was the harbinger of the Age of Ash, and it’d come to claim its stake.

  The End

  The Story Continues in: Blood Ties (#2, Shadow Brokers)

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  Gregory Blackman’s Collection

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  The Reaper Series:

  Duster and a Gun

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  The Unseen

  Blood Ties

  Tip the Scales

  Glossary

  Shadow Brokers

  Gregory Blackman

  Aeromancer: Mancers with the latent ability to control wind.

  Amoria Major: The southern continent of Amor. It is the larger of the two landmasses and where the first civilizations were founded.

  Amoria Minor: The northern continent of Amor. A harsher and frozen landmass, it is home to the clans of man who refused to migrate to the southern continent during the Age of Man.

  The Ashen Isle: An island off the coast of Haroden where the high king rules over the three kingdoms. It was created in a time long past by the Dwarven Empire as a gift to their close allies, the elves. It was later taken by the armies of man and turned into their highest seat of power.

  Beastkind: A blanket term for the lesser races of Amor. This includes: kaerns, lycans, nosferatu, wisps, and countless other higher brain functioning creatures.

  Crowner: The currency of the three kingdoms. Crowners exist in the gold, silver, and bronze variety. Some paper

  Cycle: The time taken for one complete rotation around the sun. A cycle consists of four seasons and 480 days.

  Dwarf: One of original races to the world of Amor, the Dwarven Empire existed throughout what is now known as the non-aligned nations. Dwarves are short, surly, and fiercely intelligent. Most of the advancements in the three kingdoms can be attributed to older dwarvish designs.

  Elf: Another of the original races to the world of Amor, the Elven Empire was once a realm of free peoples that lived in the lands now known to the three kingdoms. After cycles of bloodshed, the elves were forced from their homes and into the Wild Lands, where they now reside.

  The Four Pillars: The state religion of the kingdoms of man. It is based on the four elements of fire, water, earth, and wind. It is said to have originated from Amoria Minor before humans settled the mainland. The head of the religion reigns from the Ashen Isle, second in power only to the reigning high king.

  Gnoll: Piggish creatures who stand on two feet. Gnolls are dense, brutish beings that live in small packs and attack anything they see as an easy target.

  High King: The title given to the ruling class of the Ashen Isle. The high king is granted indirect rule of the three kingdoms of man, Auslander, Vanoss, and Haroden.

  Highgard: Once the northern capital of the Dwarven Empire, Highgard exists now as a segregated metropolis of human rulers and their dwarven slaves.

  Human: The youngest of the major races. Little is known about how mankind came into existence. Regardless of their origins, mankind thrived in the barren lands of Amoria Minor until they crossed the Siren Seas in search of a better life for themselves, and subsequently, a worse life for those who currently resided there.

  Hydromancer: Mancers with the latent ability to harness water.

  Ice Kings: An ancient race frozen in time at the peak of the Black Mountain. Nothing is known about the ice kings, all is conjecture. They are believed to have died off sometime before the emergence of the elvish and dwarven races.

  The Iron March: A road made of interconnected iron plates. The highway runs for hundreds of miles and once bridged the divide between the two precursor empires: elves and dwar
ves. Now, the Iron March connects the kingdoms of man with the non-aligned nations to the east.

  Kaern: The smallest of the beastkind races, kaern are short-lived humanoids that have cloven hooves and legs covered in thick fur. They are kind beings who live in constant fear of the world around them.

  Kobold: Mischievous creatures with long, watery snouts and hides of knotted leather. Kobolds travel in small packs and use crude weapons to beat their victims to death. While a single kobold is little for a trained adventurer to overcome, seldom will kobolds travel outside their packs.

  Lowgard: The southern capital of the now defunct Dwarven Empire.

  Lycan: Commonly referred to as werewolves, the lycan race was once native solely to Amoria Minor. It is believed man used these beasts as a tool against the inhabitants of Amoria Major, and as such, is responsible for their appearance in the southern realm.

  Mancer: While mancer is a broad term to describe those with magical ability, it is considered a slanderous term for a lone mage who doesn’t adhere to the doctrines of the towering magi.

  Necromancer: Mancers with the latent ability to control the dead. Necromancy is known as the forbidden magick and holds no position among the other towering magi.

  The Non-Aligned Nations: A collection of six predominately human nations that exist independent of the three kingdoms. These countries are as follows: Kaffrika, Consorta, Wyrmos, Han, Zanto, and Pire.