Warbringer - Chapter 2
Erika paused as she leaned backwards over the void, the darkness beckoning below...
★★★★★ "Great start to a new series! Interesting characters and a unique storyline set in a world that begs to be explored or in this case survived. Definitely worth checking out!"
Centuries ago, the world fell.
From the ashes rose a terrible new species—the Tangata.
Now they wage war against the kingdoms of man. And humanity is losing.
Recruited straight from his academy, twenty-year-old Lukys hopes the frontier will make a soldier out of him. But Tangata are massing in the south, and the allied armies are desperate. They will do anything to halt the enemy advance—including sending untrained men and women into battle. Determined to survive, Lukys seeks aid from the only man who seems to care: Romaine, the last warrior of an extinct kingdom.
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Erika paused as she leaned backwards over the void, the darkness beckoning below. Only the corded rope looped around her waist held her in place. A shiver touched her, but now was not the time for second thoughts, and with a last look at her two assistants, she kicked off into the chasm. The rope slid through her fingers as she descended, the pitch-black reaching up to embrace her.
Soon the oil lantern clipped to her backpack became the only source of light, as the opening above shrank to nothing. The air grew colder, damp with the breath of the earth, and she shivered again, her eyes searching the absolute dark below for sign of the bottom. The lantern flickered and the black seemed to press closer, as though trying to repel her, to keep her from the secrets that had lain hidden from human eyes for centuries.
There were those who said these places were haunted, that they were the sacred sites of the Gods, or the birthplace of the Tangata. The details changed from story to story, but all agreed that entrance was forbidden, that to step foot in these hidden places was to call death down upon the human race.
As if that weren’t already coming.
Erika ignored such superstitions. The small-minded who believed such fancy had held back humanity for long enough. They could no longer afford such ignorance. Flumeer needed every weapon it could find for the war to come.
Fortunately, the Flumeeren queen had finally come to see her point of view. Now Erika just had to discover something of use in these lost places, something that might change the tide of the war.
So far though, her search had proven fruitless. The other sites had been empty; whatever secrets they’d once contained long lost to the passage of time.
And the queen was not known for her patience. She had taken a gamble, supporting Erika in the face of resistance from nobles who preferred to leave the past buried. What would happen if Erika came back empty-handed a third time?
“This is the place,” Erika whispered to herself, breath now fogging in the lanternlight. “This time I will find it.”
The magic of the Gods.
Those had been the words that had convinced the queen. Erika had spent most of her life studying their long-lost deities, whose magic had once been shared freely with humanity. What wonders had her ancestors witnessed in those glorious times before The Fall? Before the traitors amongst their ranks had grown jealous of the Gods and stolen the forbidden powers?
Only legends told of that time now. The traitors had sought to use the stolen magics to reshape themselves, seeking to join the Divine. But when the Gods had discovered the violation, their rage had been terrible, and instead the thieves had been cursed to madness. They had become the Tangata.
If only the anger of the Gods could be so easily sated.
All humanity had been equal before their omniscient gaze, and so all humanity had been cast down.
A hundred years of darkness had followed.
Fools!
Just the thought of that ancient betrayal caused Erika to tighten her grip about the rope. The Tangata had ruined everything, sentenced humanity to crawl amidst the dirt like common beasts for their avarice. Even when the light had finally returned, humanity had found the Gods gone, returned to their citadels amidst the clouds.
But the Tangata had remained.
Surely there was a design in that, some divine plan. Erika was convinced it was a test, a trial to see whether humanity could put right the mistakes of their ancestors. The Gods would not have left them alone to face the beasts, not unless there was a reason, a chance for victory.
And so she searched in these ancient places, searching for what had been forgotten by the mind of men, for a power left to them by the Gods to defeat the Tangata.
She had dedicated her entire life to it.
Thunk.
Erika stumbled as her feet struck solid earth. She would have fallen, but instinctively she had stopped letting out rope and now it brought her up short. Getting her feet back under her, she straightened.
Overhead, the entrance was little more than a pinprick now. Unclipping the lantern from her pack, she held it high to make sure she was truly at the bottom. On three sides the shaft was hard rock, but on the fourth a tunnel led into the darkness. She swore at the sight of water dripping from the walls. That was as the other sites had been, their contents rotted away long ago.
Not this time, please, Gods, not this time.
Her lantern illuminated walls of white limestone. Stalactites had begun to form in the ceiling, young yet, while water and the relentless passage of time had carved grooves in the stone beneath her feet. Silver threads criss-crossed the air, reflecting light from her lantern, but she saw no sign of the arachnids that had spun them.
Satisfied she had reached the bottom of the shaft, Erika set the lantern on the ground beside her and unclipped herself from the rope. Three tugs signalled to her assistants it was safe to descend. It would not pay to venture too far into this place alone.
She looked again at the walls. So much had been lost to the passage of time, but Erika knew for herself that some powers had remained from the time of the Gods. Her mother had…become a scavenger, digging in the dirt for scraps of metal that she could sell to the local blacksmith.
Their poverty in her later childhood stung Erika even now, though at least her mother’s occupation had given birth to her fascination with the Gods. The woman had collected trinkets found during her digging—pieces of glass and strange, bendable materials that were of no worth to the local tradesmen. Most had been inert, remnants of a time long lost.
But one had been different.
Erika had found it amongst her mother’s collection—a smooth, round piece of glass. It had seemed no different from the others, but for an impurity at its centre. Some mistake in its crafting, her younger self had thought.
Until she’d squeezed it between her fingers, and a brilliant light had burst forth.
She’d dropped it, so great had been her shock. The artefact had struck a rock and cracked in half, its light dying with a final flash. Half-blinded, Erika had scrambled to put it back together, before she’d smelt the burning.
Only as her vision cleared did she see the tiny drop of moisture that had been expelled from the glass. Solid stone had dissolved at its touch, leaving a smoking hole in the rock. Frozen in terror at what she might have unleashed, her younger self had sat frozen as the house filled with a terrible, molten stench. The stone had burnt for an hour before whatever magic had been hidden within the glass finally consumed itself. It had left a hole almost the size of Erika’s fist in the unadorned floor.
Erika had not soon forgotten the beating she’d received for the incident, though today it was the loss of the object she regretted. Who knew what power it might have possessed? She’d found other objects over the years, but none had retained their magic.
The scuffing of boots on stone announced the arrival of her first assistant. A plump Flumeeren man by the name of Ibran, he had been one of the first to record the known locations of these sites. He’d been reluctant to join the expedition, concerned as he was by the wrath of the Gods, but his academic’s mind had finally proven stronger than his superstition. Unclipping himself from the rope, Ibran took up another lantern and stepped aside for her second assistant to make his descent.
Sythe was Ibran’s opposite in every way, more fighter than academic. The queen had offered his services to ensure their safety on the journey. So far, they had not had to test his skills as a warrior, though his strength had been a welcome addition. He came into view now, descending rapidly, a massive pack looped over his shoulders. A pickaxe was clipped to the side and within were their supplies—rope and food for several days, water, even a blasting cap, in case they had to break through a collapse in the cave network.
She might have travelled with a larger party, but Erika was not the only one interested in the world before The Fall. She’d heard whispers of Archivists in Gemaho who sought the same secrets as herself. With the fall of Calafe, the world was growing desperate for an answer to the Tangata.
When Sythe had landed and unclipped, Erika nodded for him to take the lead. “Slowly,” she murmured, “if anything remains, I don’t want to disturb it.”
“Yes, Archivist,” Sythe said with a nod. He was not a man of many words.
Ibran took up position behind Erika as they started off into the caves. He too carried a pack, though like hers, it only held his food and water for the day, along with a few scrolls to help with translating the language of the Gods. Though breathing in the moisture-laden air, Erika felt they might be getting ahead of themselves.
The ancient sites seemed to follow a similar pattern to one another, though the rock that surrounded them was smooth, unbroken by a single joint. Had the Gods carved them from the bedrock itself? The thought of such power sent a shudder down Erika’s spine. Surely even a fraction would be enough to destroy the Tangata.
Using sketches of the last site they’d visited as a map, the three wound their way deeper into the darkness. The tunnel branched at regular intervals, creating a maze far beneath the surface. Smaller openings appeared in the walls, revealing all manner of chambers.
The moisture seemed to lessen as they pressed on, though as the hours stretched out, they still saw no sign of relics. Doubt touched Erika. What had she been thinking, pinning her future on a wild goose chase? She should have known nothing would remain of the time before The Fall, not even in these secret places. If only they had been sealed away, protected from the elements. Instead they had remained opened to the world, their contents rotted away, or perhaps even stolen by early explorers.
Steeling herself, Erika forced her chin higher. They had barely started. It would take days to explore the entire network. Plenty of time yet for a discovery.
There would be a chamber somewhere here, something that had been protected, that still held its secrets. She continued on, counting steps, checking each chamber she came too, then continuing. Always they were spaced the same number of steps apart---
Erika frowned, pausing midstride. There should have been another opening ahead, but instead she found only smooth, untouched stone. Still in the lead, Sythe continued on, unaware of the break in pattern, but she stopped.
“Something wrong, Archivist?” Ibran asked.
Shaking her head, Erika did not reply. Had she lost track of her footsteps? No, she had long grown used to keeping the count while other thoughts occupied her mind. Following the pattern of the other sites, there should be a chamber here.
But there was nothing but solid stone.
Erika’s heart hammered in her chest as she held the lantern closer to the limestone wall. Not a single crack showed in the silvery stone, nothing to indicate a cave-in had closed off the chamber. Had the Gods changed their pattern in this place? But no, the rest of the site had been a mirror image of the others.
“An irregularity,” she murmured, more to herself than her companions.
It didn’t make sense. Why change the pattern here? She leaned in closer, inspecting the pale rock. Light from her lantern shimmered as it caught in the thin trails of water trickling down the wall. She frowned as an idea came to her. Wasn’t it odd, that these places had been carved from the bedrock—then left unadorned? With the power at their fingertips, why would the Gods choose to leave their sacred places so…plain?
Unless the limestone was not, in fact, the original stone.
“The pickaxe,” she said, turning to Sythe.
Sythe raised an eyebrow, but he was a former soldier and accustomed to obeying orders without question. Shrugging the pack from his back, he unclipped the pickaxe and handed it over.
Carefully she stepped up to the wall. The white stone seemed to glow in the lantern light, as though the rock had somehow absorbed the great magics that had once been worked here. Erika cared little for its beauty—only for what might lie beneath. Using the razor-sharp point of the pickaxe, she scraped at the rock, gently at first, then with greater pressure as the limestone crumbled.
She kept at her task until, with a sharp grating noise, the pick struck something unyielding beneath the white rock. The breath caught in her throat and she withdrew the pick, revealing darkness beneath. For a moment, Erika thought it was stone—then Ibran moved his lantern, and light reflected from the black.
“Metal,” she whispered.
“Truly?” Ibran leaned in closer, trying to get a better look. “That’s…impossible. It would have corroded, rusted away long ago.”
“And yet it remains,” Erika murmured. That was a question for another day, though. Turning to Sythe, she handed the pickaxe back to him. “Let’s see how far it extends.”
The warrior nodded. He worked with more care than Erika would have expected from one untrained in the Archivists arts. The queen had apparently chosen her people well. Chunks of stone fell away and slowly a great panel of reflective metal was revealed. Dust covered its surface, but it remained unmarked by the pickaxe. Whatever the Gods had used in its creation, it was apparently harder than steel.
Blood pounded in Erika’s ears as Sythe finally stepped back, revealing the full extent of his work. He had removed the limestone a foot to either side of the panel, though here his administrations had only revealed another type of rock. It confirmed Erika’s suspicions. The limestone had not been there during the time of the Gods—it had formed later, deposited as a thin layer by the calcite laden waters.
She turned her attention back to the metal sheet. Its surface was unadorned, giving no indication of its purpose. But Erika knew, had guessed it the second she’d uncovered the reflective surface. This panel was the reason for the missing chamber.
“It’s a door,” she murmured.
“But how to open it?” Ibran replied.
He had a point. There was no handle that might have released the door from its frame. In fact, the steel joined so tightly with the rock on either side that it formed a perfect seal. Erika’s hands began to shake. If this door had kept out the moisture, its contents might have been protected from the relentless passage of time.
This was what she’d been searching for!
“Can you knock it down?” she asked, excitement washing away her usual caution.
Sythe flicked her a glance, then stepping back from the door, he lurched forward and slammed a boot into the metal. The panel did not so much as budge. He tried again, and a final time, but it was clear the metal would take more than human strength to move.
Erika swallowed. Dare she risk the explosive charges? They could bring the roof down on them, or destroy whatever lay on the other side. But what other choice did she have? The pickaxe had not even dented the strange metal.
“Sythe,” she murmured. “The blasting cap.”
“What?” Ibran hissed. “Archivist, you cannot be serious. The risk—”
“The risk is acceptable,” Erika spoke over him. There was more than just her reputation at stake—the queen did not take kindly to failure. Especially if she learned they’d been so close and turned back. “Sythe, I trust you can open this door without bringing the ceiling down on top of us.”
Sythe was already rummaging in his pack, but he paused long enough to nod. Ibran stuttered something incomprehensible and then started off back down the corridor. Ignoring him, Erika watched as Sythe set the charges. She had little experience with such things, and had to trust the man knew what he was doing. If they ended up destroying what lay within…
No, she could not doubt herself, not now. She needed to know what lay behind this door. Her fate, the fate of Flumeer, and perhaps even humanity itself, depended on it.
Finally, Sythe stepped back from the door. He had set two charges, one high, the other low, both on the left-hand side of the door. Taking the fuse from his pack, he attached it to the charges and then glanced at her.
“Ready.”
Nodding, Erika led the way back down the tunnel. If the explosion did cause a cave-in, she didn’t want to be anywhere near it. Sythe trailed the fuse out behind them as they went, until they reached the last chamber they’d passed. There they found a sulking Ibran. Erika joined him in the chamber’s questionable shelter and then looked to Sythe.
He lit the fuse.
Erika held her breath as sparks leapt from the wire and vanished back into the main tunnel. Suddenly doubtful, she shared a glance with Ibran, but it was too late to change her mind now. Closing her eyes, she held her hands over her ears and waited.
Boom.
Light seared through Erika’s eyelids as the explosion shook the chamber. A shockwave followed and something struck her, driving her to the ground. Breath hissed between her teeth as she dragged in a breath. Dust burned in her nostrils and when she opened her eyes, Erika found herself in absolute darkness.
For a second, she thought the worst had happened and they’d all been buried. But then the weight shifted above her and she heard a grunt as someone picked himself up. The flare of a match illuminated Sythe’s face, then the broken lantern and the grumbling Ibran where he had fallen on the other side of the cave. Sythe retrieved their spare lantern from his backpack, though even with it lit, it was near impossible to see with the dust and smoke still obscuring the air.
Erika coughed as she dragged herself to her feet. “Did it work?”
Without a word, Sythe moved to the doorway. The light of his lantern drew them after him. Excitement pulsed in Erika’s veins as she stepped back into the tunnel. An uncharacteristic grin split Sythe’s face as he glanced back.
“Looks like it worked, Archivist.”
She was at his side in an instant, her discomfort forgotten. Dust still danced in the lanternlight, but a gap in the steel panel was now evident. Beyond, darkness beckoned. Hardly able to contain her excitement, Erika staggered forward. The door had twisted in its frame, the blast blowing the bottom half of it inwards several inches, while the rest remained stubbornly fixed in place. Thankfully, the gap was large enough for even Ibran to fit.
She stepped towards it before a sense of self-preservation gave her pause. If this space had remained untouched since The Fall, the magic of the Gods might still prevail—along with any traps they might have set for intruders. She considered sending Sythe first…but no, if the unknown truly awaited, she wanted—needed—to be first.
Gathering herself, she ducked beneath the broken sheet of metal. Darkness swallowed her up as she left behind the lantern and set one foot, then another, on the unseen floor. Holding her breath, she straightened.
Clang.
A scream built in Erika’s throat as something clicked overhead and she tried to throw herself back. But in the darkness, she misjudged the height of the hole in the door. Her shoulder collided with the heavy metal and threw her back, leaving her at the mercy of whatever trap she had triggered…
Light flooded the chamber.
Erika’s scream turned to a gasp as she found herself face-to-face with the brilliance of the Gods. A magical glow now lit the chamber, stemming from great globes of glass fixed high on the walls—like giant versions of the artefact she had once held as a child. Mouth wide, she turned in a circle, eyes burning from the sudden brightness after the dark, but unable to turn away.
“Archivist?” Ibran’s voice came from beyond the door. He sounded nervous. “Is…everything okay?
“See for yourself,” she said, too engrossed with the magic to offer any explanation.
Scuffling came from beyond the door as her assistants followed, first Ibran, then Sythe bringing up the rear. Their eyes widened as they saw the source of the light. Erika shared their astonishment. What magic did the Gods possess, that their talismans retained power, even centuries after being abandoned?
“What sorcery is this?” Ibran murmured.
A grin came unbidden to Erika’s face. “What we’ve been searching for.”
“Perhaps the doubters were right,” he croaked. She looked at him in surprise and saw his jowls quiver as he swallowed. “This…just being in this place, it feels like sacrilege.”
The smile slipped from Erika’s face. “Nonsense,” she snapped, before returning her attention to the chamber.
There was no sign of water damage here—indeed, even after the explosion, there was barely any dust on this side of the door. Instead of limestone, the walls and floor were made of polished grey stone, their surfaces untouched by weakness or imperfections. Her breath caught as she saw a massive pane of black glass fixed to one wall. It would have been worth a fortune back in Mildeth—only the richest of nobles could afford windows of glass.
A table made from a similar metal to the door sat pressed against the opposite wall. Blood pounded in Erika’s ears as she stepped towards it. The metal surface was empty. Despite the magic lights, the shining glass and sealed door, there was…nothing.
No!
Erika darted forward as the light glinted from an object she’d almost missed—a glove, lying alone on the table. The way it reflected in the strange lights had camouflaged it. As she picked it up, she realised why. It had been woven from metal rather than wool. A gauntlet? What would the Gods have needed with such an object?
Instinctively, she lifted the gauntlet and slipped it onto her hand. Behind her, Ibran gasped, no doubt disturbed by her supposed sacrilege, but she ignored him. She had come to learn, to gain understanding of the Gods—not surrender to superstition. The time had come to throw caution to the winds.
The cold steel sent a shiver down her spine. She was surprised how well it fit—she had always imagined the Gods as giants. Though she supposed that was foolish, given how small these hidden tunnels were.
Holding the gauntlet up to the light, Erika wondered at how the steel fibres had been woven together. They rippled in the magical glow, seeming almost alive. What was the function of such an object? Her heart throbbed as an idea came to her. Could this be what she’d been looking for, some connection to the Gods and their magic?
“Erika…”
It was Ibran, but she was past listening to his cautions now. Standing there, illuminated by the magic of the Gods, surrounded by their riches, Erika knew what she had to do. Forgotten were the warnings, the legends of the Tangata and The Fall. She now held the magic that could destroy them in the palm of her hand, if only she had the strength to command it.
She closed her fist, reaching out with her mind for those ancient powers, seeking to wake them, to bring them forth for the first time in centuries. This was her purpose, the reason she had been drawn to these ancient places, to a lifetime dedicated to the study of the Gods…
Nothing happened.
Her heartbeat slowed and finally she opened her eyes, an exhaled breath whistling between her teeth. She turned her hand over, examining the gauntlet, but nothing had changed. Her elation subsided, the thrill of just moments before fading away. It was no more than an ordinary glove. Perhaps this had been the height of fashion for those who had lived alongside the Gods. A revelation of great interest to scholars like Ibran, no doubt, but for her…
Erika’s face warmed as she felt the eyes of her assistants upon her. Clenching her fists at her sides, she continued her inspection of the chamber, though she still sensed their mirth. She forced her mind back to that of a scholar. Magic or no, this was still a great discovery. Those crystals…how long would their light remain? Perhaps they could remove them from the walls, to show the queen that her expedition had not been entirely in vain.
Then her eyes alighted on a picture that had been plastered to the wall. She hadn’t noticed it at first, so engrossed had she been in the crystal lights and the gauntlet. Something about the decoration caught her eye now. She took a step closer, frowning. It looked so familiar…
A gasp slipped from her throat as she realised what it was.
“It’s a map,” she murmured.
The map was so detailed and colourful, she hadn’t recognised it at first. Now its true nature practically leapt at her. There was the northern archipelago of Perfugia, and there the Mountains of the Gods, the southern coasts of Calafe. And so much more.
Reverently, Erika stretched out a hand and touched the map. She was surprised to find it was paper—how had such a delicate thing survived all this time? The steel door had truly sealed off this chamber from the world, from time itself, it seemed.
Her eyes continued to roam the lands depicted by the map, making connections. Dots labelled in the language of the ancients must have indicated cities. Erika was not surprised to see many corresponded with modern-day towns and cities—no doubt the benefits of their locations had not changed through the centuries. Several, though, were wastelands today, others the sites of mining extractions.
Footsteps sounded as her assistants approached, but Erika did not take her eyes from the precious paper. There was something else here, something important. Several locations had been marked with stars rather than dots and had not been labelled. They didn’t seem to correspond with any modern cities, nor any significant feature that might have proven an advantage for a settlement…
The breath caught in her throat as the pattern clicked into place. Surely it couldn’t be so simple? Quickly she tracked the distances, trying to judge the scale, to be sure. Yes, there was the site on the peninsula west of Mildeth. And there was the one in the foothills of the mountains…
“It shows the ancient sites,” she whispered. “The hidden places of the Gods.”
“Truly?” Ibran gasped, stepping up beside her. “That—”
Erika was barely listening to him, so engrossed was she in the map. It didn’t only show those sites they’d visited in Flumeer—it revealed all of them! They dotted the landscape, many matching sites already known to the Archivists, others that had yet been identified. Her heart throbbed, sending blood rushing to her temples.
If those sites had remained undiscovered all this time, if they were sealed as this chamber had been…who knew what treasures they might have preserved?
Then a frown touched her lips as she noticed an absence. Of the dozen or so stars on the map, only three were located in Flumeer. The three they had already visited…
Thump.
Erika jumped as something heavy struck the ground. She swung on Ibran, ready to reprimand him for his carelessness, but the words died on her lips. Her assistant lay facedown on the floor, blood oozing from an awful wound in his neck. A scream built in her throat, her sluggish mind trying to put the pieces together, to understand how he had come to be there…
…her eyes fell on the bloody dagger clutched in Sythe’s hand.
“What did you do?” she hissed.
“Step ‘way from the map,” the man said calmly.
Ice spread through Erika’s veins. His voice had changed, losing the western tang of the Flumeeren people. He sounded almost…
“I said, step away,” Sythe repeated, voice deepening to a growl. He took a step towards her, dagger poised to strike.
Instinctively, Erika tried to back away, but the table brought her up short. It took a moment for his words to register. They sent a shudder down her spine. Step away from the most important finding of her career, a map to all the secret places of the Gods? Even if there were no other sites in Flumeer, the discovery was a priceless treasure.
Scanning her surroundings, Erika searched for a way to fight back. The chamber was only ten by ten feet and Sythe was a big man, easily twice her size, and the knife in his hand was almost two foot long. Any plan that resulted in physical conflict would not go her way. But that didn’t mean she would surrender her prize without resistance.
“Stay back!” she hissed.
Her eyes flickered to the ruined door, but even if she could grab the map and make it past Sythe, she would never make it through the gap before he caught her.
A smile touched Sythe’s face, as though he could read her thoughts. “Hey,” he murmured, lowering the point of his knife half an inch. “No need for ya to join ‘im, ay?” He gestured to Ibran. A pool of blood was already beginning to form beneath the man.
Erika shook her head, adopting the manner of a terrified youth. It didn’t take much to be convincing—the blood dripping from Sythe’s knife was enough to drive her to the edge of panic. This couldn’t be happening.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
Sythe’s lips drew back, revealing yellowed teeth. “The King pays well for secrets.”
“The king?” Erika said, momentarily confused, before the man’s accent clicked into place. “Gemaho!” she gasped.
She hadn’t heard the accent often as a child, when visitors had dined with her father. But that had been before the war, before she’d fled with her mother; she hadn’t heard the accent in years now. Gemaho had broken the war pact when the allied expedition south of the Agzor Fortress had failed. Afterwards, they had retreated within their borders and barred entrance to all foreigners. Sythe—if that was even his true name—only laughed in confirmation of her suspicions.
“What interest does the King of the West have in my work?” she asked, trying to regain the initiative. Maybe if she could negotiate…
Sythe laughed. “New age is approaching, Archivist,” he rasped, accents mixing. “Kingdoms are doomed, without’a new weapon. Or an old one. Whichever kingdom uncovers the magic of the Gods, will rule the world.”
“That’s insanity!” Erika gasped. “The kingdoms stand united—”
“Ha!” Sythe interrupted. “’ought you were smart. Wars comin’, one the king ain’t intending to lose.”
“But—”
“Enough,” Sythe barked. He swung the dagger in a lazy arc.
“No!” Erika screamed, flinching against the table and thrusting out her gauntleted hand to fend off the blow.
The attack had only been a warning, but now Sythe’s face darkened and he raised the blade high. Erika was sure she had only seconds left. Frustration burned in her soul. So much time, an entire life, wasted on the study of the Gods, and for what? To have someone else snatch away the prize at her moment of victory?
But as the blow swept towards her, Sythe stumbled, and the swing of his dagger fell short. A frown appeared on the assassin’s unshaven cheeks and he shook his head, as though to dislodge something in his ears. It seemed to work, and he straightened—but only for a moment.
A scream tore from his throat as he staggered back, the dagger slipping from limp fingers. Hand still outstretched, Erika watched as the blade clattered harmlessly to the stone floor. Another cry came from Sythe as he crashed into the table, upending it on the floor. His screams turned to an awful gurgling as he slumped to his knees. Wild eyes, red with blood, swivelled in his skull, finding Erika standing frozen in place. He stretched out a hand, lips moving, trying to make sounds.
“Pleas—” he managed, as though the word had to be clawed from his throat.
Erika gaped as his face began to change. Blood seeped from his eyes and ears, leaving trails of red down his cheeks and neck. Another groan hissed from the man’s throat as gore burst from his lips, splattering the stones between him and where Ibran lay dead.
Slowly Erika’s horror turned to fascination. Her eyes moved from the Gemahan assassin to the gauntlet. This had to be its doing. Indeed, while unwatched, it had changed. Goosebumps tingled across her hand and she realised with a touch of fear that the fine wires had somehow become entwined with her flesh. Warmth spread through her hand and up her arm as a glow began in the unknown metal, like that of the crystals in the walls, but darker, more threatening.
Deadly.
Curious, Erika closed her fist. Immediately the light died. A sharp inhale from where Sythe had collapsed to the floor confirmed the traitor still lived, though he made no move to recover his dagger or feet. Soft sobs tore from the man’s throat, and Erika wondered what style of agony could inspire such relief at its departure.
Heart pounding in her ears, Erika looked again at the gauntlet. She swallowed. God magic. She had hoped for this, prayed for it night and day since childhood. Now, though…she found herself wondering. What cost might this magic extract?
“Archivist?”
The faintest of whispers came from the assassin. He had not moved from where he lay, but now she saw his eyes moving, the bloody irises moving back and forth. Horror touched her and she forced herself to look away. She couldn’t dwell on what her newfound power had done. There would be time for that later. For now, she needed to escape, in case others were working with the Gemahan.
The map!
It still hung from the wall, untouched in the conflict. Carefully she leaned across the table to recover it.
“Archivist,” the call came again, though each word seemed to cause the man great pain. “Archivist…please…are you there?”
Icy cold slid down Erika’s spine, but she ignored it. As she looked down at the map, she caught sight of another star. It lay beyond the borders of Flumeer, but not far, perhaps only two days ride south of the Illmoor. A secret site that no one had ever set eyes upon, that had never been opened. The treasures it might hold… surely they would make even the gauntlet look ordinary.
She rolled up the map and slid it into her satchel, then forced herself to look on Sythe. His eyes still flickered back and forth, but she saw now what the gauntlet had done. Its magic had shredded his corneas. He would never see again.
He tried to kill me!
Shaking off her pity, Erika slid along the table to the wall, avoiding where the assassin was still struggling to stand. Even blind, he might still prove a threat. Only when she reached the broken door did she pause to glance back. Sythe cried out again, crouched now beside Ibran.
“Archivist, pleaaase!”
Another cry drew her gaze back to Sythe. He crouched on the floor, pitiful in his desperation, raw terror twisting his face.
Erika turned away. She would feel no compassion for the man. This was only justice. He had tried to kill her—worse, he had tried to steal her victory.
Let him rot down here in the darkness.
Lukys’s legs burned as he made his slow way up the slope. The weight of his pack and chainmail vest dragged him back but he kept on, teeth clenched, eyes fixed on the ground two yards ahead of his feet. Grunts came from the other Perfugian recruits walking around him, though little was said. After a week of hard marching, few could spare the breath for idle words.
On more than a few occasions, Lukys had wondered whether he could keep on. The way had been a brutal series of mountains, valleys and river crossings, with each night spent camped in the open, with only the canvas tents they carried on their backs for shelter. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders; he had not enjoyed a good night’s sleep since the voyage from Ashura. If only the ship had carried them further south, the march to the frontier could have been completed in a day.
Instead it had deposited them on the docks of Mildeth, the Flumeeren capital, leaving them to walk most of the way. Apparently, the galley was needed for more important tasks, such as ferrying the famous Flumeeren spices back to Ashura.
Many of the recruits felt affronted at the idea, but Lukys’s childhood had been filled with hardships far worse than a cross-country march. His parents had been nobodies. That wasn’t meant to matter in Perfugia. Children were taken from their families at eight and enrolled at the national academy, so that none would be privileged above others.
But even at the academy, the division had been clear. His dormitory had been old and crowded; the newest facilities given to the noble born. And so had passed his twelve years of study. He was glad to be rid of the place.
Now, at last, he would have a chance to prove himself.
It had come as a surprise when they’d named him. The Perfugian army was renown throughout the four kingdoms; it was a rare honour to serve in its ranks. Lukys’s hopes had been for a position as a scribe or doctor, though he’d struggled with both in his final examinations.
But a soldier? He hadn’t dared dream of such an assignment.
Noticing the slope lessening beneath his boots, Lukys finally glanced up. A sigh escaped him as he saw the top of the hill was close. Several recruits and the officers on their horses were already waiting there. His fellows were taking the opportunity to sit and rest their legs, while the officers talked softly amongst themselves.
Coming to a stop alongside the others, Lukys leaned against his spear with a groan, then drew out his waterskin and took a swig. The path up the hill had been dry and it felt good to wash the dust from his mouth. Laughter came from the nearby recruits as they looked in his direction.
“Finally made it, peasant?”
A scowl twisted Lukys’s lips but he kept his mouth shut. The group were made up of some of the higher born from the academy, men and women who at various points over the last ten years had made his life difficult. He was used to their taunts, though he’d hoped they might have ceased now that they’d all been named professional soldiers.
“I hope we get to march into Calafe,” one of them, Dale, was saying to the others. “Let’s see how tough the Tangata are when they come up against Perfugian steel!”
The others cheered and clapped his back. The officers on their horses ignored the noise, though the recruits had been instructed to keep quiet as they neared the frontier. If the maps were to be believed, they were close now…
Putting away his waterskin, Lukys moved past the officers. The remaining recruits were still filing up the hillside. Several of the stragglers were at least ten minutes behind; he had time to look around.
The terrain ahead was greener than what they’d just climbed. Trees spotted the rolling hills, though they could not compare to the untouched forests of northern Perfugia. Then Lukys frowned as he noticed a blackened strip of land. Further down the hill, the forest had been burnt, leaving bare earth stretching all the way to the broad waters of a river.
A river…
The Illmoor!
His heart quickened as he scanned the banks of the famous river, searching, seeking, there!
Nestled in a bend of the Illmoor was a town—Fogmore. A grin stretched his cheeks as he looked upon the end of their long journey. It faded, however, as his eyes lingered on the town. The stockade walls were tiny, and many of the buildings he could see looked to be made of wood. In Perfugia, even the poorest of villages were constructed of stone, built to last, to endure the wild storms that often bashed the island kingdom’s coast. Wood was only ever used as decoration.
He supposed it was all a farming nation like Flumeer could afford on such a distant frontier. Even so, his stomach twisted at the thought of sleeping in such a matchbox—what would they do if a fire swept through the sprawling buildings?
And why had they burnt the forest?
Shouts came from behind, then the officers were trotting past. They didn’t spare him a glance as they started down the winding path to the plains below. Lukys let out a sigh as he settled his pack more comfortably on his shoulders. Then he waited for Dale and his friends to go first—no doubt they would react unpleasantly to a mere peasant overtaking them.
The scraggly trees swallowed them up, sealing off the town from view for the time being. The weather had improved over the last day, but now Lukys noticed clumps of snow beneath the trees once more. The dry air of the valley they’d just traversed was replaced with a damp, cloying humidity, and by the time they reached the burnt section of land, clouds had gathered in the sky.
As they continued towards the distant town, Lukys looked on the ruined earth with sadness. Blackened tree stumps stood here and there, but the fire must have burnt hot—there was little remaining of the forest that covered the hillside further up. With the trees lost, the land already showed signs of erosion: deep rivulets carving through the ashy soil, exposed roots dotting the land, even a crumbling cliff that had collapsed across a section of the road.
Lukys couldn’t begin to understand the destruction. While they lived in cities of stone, every Perfugian regarded their forestland as sacred.
The aching had begun again in his legs and back, but the knowledge that every step brought him closer to a bed—however flammable its enclosure might be—gave Lukys strength. His eyes sought a fresh glimpse of the fortified town, but it hid behind the rolling hills now between the recruits and the river.
Only as the sun dipped towards the horizon did the land flatten out, bringing the town back into view. Less than a mile off now, Lukys glimpsed the flicker of movement as armoured soldiers shifted atop the palisade. They wore chainmail like himself and their half-helms matched the one hanging from Lukys’s pack.
Pale faces turned to watch at the approaching column, though no trumpets sounded to announce their arrival. They had probably been spotted when they’d lingered on the mountaintop. No doubt word of the reinforcements had carried ahead, and Lukys straightened his shoulders in anticipation of their reception. They were not fully-fledged soldiers yet, just at the beginning of their training, but he wanted to at least look the part.
But there were no cheers to greet them, no welcoming applause. The gates facing the road north stood open and a small gathering of onlookers in plain clothing had gathered atop the stockade walls, but an unnatural silence hung over them, more like mourners at a funeral than a welcome party. Lukys let out a sigh: he shouldn’t have expected any better from a city at war.
As the column approached the gates, the officers brought their horses to a stop and turned to face the recruits.
“Column, halt!”
A ripple went through the Perfugian ranks as fifty men and women came to a staggering stop. Lukys and the others glanced at one another, wondering why they’d stopped. They were just a few yards from the town now, surely whatever it was could wait…
“Column, form lines!”
Again the recruits looked at one another, but another shout from the officers had them scrambling. Chaos ensued as they bumped into one another, trying to arrange themselves into some semblance of order. Lukys’s cheeks grew red as snickering carried down from overhead. The civilians were laughing at them!
He gripped his spear tight and focused on finding his place in line. Let them laugh; what did they know? They might be inexperienced, but they were Perfugian soldiers and they had won their right to be here! The citizens of Fogmore would be reminded of that soon enough, when the Tangata came.
Long minutes later the fifty recruits had organised themselves into rows of five wide, ten deep. Lukys stood with his spear held vertically at his side, eyes fixed straight ahead as he’d once seen the royal guards do when in the presence of the Sovereigns. To his embarrassment, he was one of the few to adopt an official pose—the others lounged in various states of boredom, apparently impatient to finally reach their destination and discard their packs.
“Column, advance!”
At the command, the recruits started forward. Their lines immediately disintegrated as those behind moved faster than the recruits in front, but the officers apparently no longer cared. Turning their horses, they started into the town without glancing back.
And so the Perfugian column entered Fogmore, somewhere between organised soldiers and disorganised mob. Lukys closed his ears to the howls coming from the ramparts—though as they entered, he realised the onlookers stood not so much on ramparts as an earthen mound built up against the wooden walls.
What is this place?
In Perfugia, towns and cities were guarded by great walls of granite and gneiss, topped by crenulations and watch towers. It was why in all their long history of war, no kingdom had ever managed to gain a foothold on the island nation.
Yet Fogmore, command centre for the war efforts against the Tangata, looked to be little more sophisticated than the hilltribes that had once occupied Perfugia’s mountain forests. The buildings were indeed made of wood—and looked little better than temporary shacks propped up by nails. Fresh snow was just beginning to fall and Lukys couldn’t imagine the shabby walls doing anything to keep in the warmth—or keep out the snow, for that matter.
Lukys exhaled hard, his anger turning to disdain. These people dared to mock them, when not a building in this town could compare to even his parents’ modest cottage? The streets weren’t even paved—and the passage of men and women had long since made them slick with mud. Back home, not even the most insignificant of towns would have suffered such an indignity. The entire place had a temporary feel to it, as though the Flumeerens had thrown it up overnight.
The column made its slow way through the town, struggling on through the thick mud. The fresh snow only made matters worse, and those at the rear began to lag, though their grumbles did not reach the officers on their tall horses.
It was a relief when the buildings finally gave way to a broad central plaza—though it hardly deserved such a title. The churned earth continued without so much as a street sign, except where several boulders the size of small wagons dotted the ground. For a moment, Lukys thought they might have been placed as ornaments and was impressed. Then he noticed that the rocks were smooth, untouched by so much as a chisel, and realised they probably predated the town. Too large to be moved without great expense, Fogmore had simply been built around the boulders.
No, the square was little more than a muddy paddock. Snow had been piled up in the corners beneath the eaves of the surrounding buildings, but that was the only sign of order present.
Doubt touched Lukys as the column came to a halt, and he found himself looking at the officers. What were they doing in a place like this? Surely they weren’t expected to live—and fight—alongside such savages?
“Column, form lines!”
The command came again. This time the chaos was worse, as the recruits became entangled in the thick mud. Several ended up face-first in the muck. Lukys couldn’t imagine how anyone could live in these conditions. Did the Flumeerens hold themselves in such low regard?
“Enough!”
The word cracked like a whip over the head of the recruits. Lukys flinched at the unfamiliar voice, freezing in place. Movement flickered in the corner of his eye, and he watched as a man in plain clothing stalked to the front of the assembly. A frown wrinkled Lukys’s face at the sight of a civilian giving orders to soldiers. Who did this man think he was?
The thump of boots striking earth followed as the Perfugian officers dismounted. Lukys expected them to reprimand the newcomer for interrupting, but instead the three snapped to attention, backs straight, eyes fixed ahead as the civilian approached. Shocked, Lukys turned his eyes back to the newcomer.
The man stood some five feet and nine inches, little taller than Lukys, though his frame carried far more muscle. Greying hair had been cropped short in the style of the military, but his barber had apparently ignored the strands sprouting from his ears. He wore long silver furs across his shoulders and a heavy cape draped down his back, while beneath he sported a tunic of rough spun wool. Fresh stubble shaded his jaw and frown lines streaked his face, suggesting a man who rarely smiled. Despite his obviously advancing years, his eyes were sharp as they swept the square, inspecting the recent arrivals.
It was clear from his scowl that he was not impressed.
“General Curtis, sir!” one of the Perfugian officers announced. “Your fresh batch of recruits, as scheduled.”
Lukys’s jaw almost struck the ground. Surely this couldn’t be the General Curtis. The man was a legend, his career stretching back decades. He had been one of the few who’d warned against a resurgence of Tangata, before their surprise incursion into Calafe ten years prior.
Those had been innocent times, when the kingdoms had thought the beasts contained south of the Agzor Fortress. The attack had proven them all wrong, and hundreds had died before the creatures were hunted down. All because men like General Curtis had been ignored.
At least the general had commanded the allied retaliation. Disastrous as it had ended, the outcome might have been worse yet without his presence. An army of ten thousand had marched south of the Agzor Fortress, intent on crushing the Tangata once and for all. That had been the last time soldiers from all four kingdoms fought together, a noble sight for any who watched them depart, no doubt.
Two months later, General Curtis and the warrior queen of Flumeer had led the routed forces back through the gates of the Agzor Fortress. The enemy had taken them by surprise, surrounding and almost destroying them before the Flumeeren forces had broken free. The Calafe King had fallen in the battle, and barely two thousand soldiers had escaped, but at least some had survived.
Unfortunately, the Tangata had soon followed. The unbreakable Agzor Fortress had fallen in days, and the war for Calafe had begun.
Ten years and thousands of lives later, Calafe was lost, and still the Tangata came.
Lukys shivered, looking at the man with fresh eyes. If ever a soldier had earned the right to repudiate his uniform, it was this one. Where would the four kingdoms have been without his brilliance?
It did not bear considering.
“So these are the best the Perfugian Sovereigns have to offer,” the general muttered.
He almost seemed to be speaking to himself, but Lukys drew himself up at the man’s words, chest swelling, spear clutched tightly at his side.
“A more wretched bunch I’ve not seen since your last batch.” Shaking his head, the general turned back to the officers. “I suppose you’ve filled their heads with the usual nonsense of glory and Perfugian superiority?” He snorted. “You’re short fifty men.”
The officers shared a glance while Lukys and the other recruits stood gaping. What had the general said?
Clearing his throat, the head officer of their column stepped forward. “There were not sufficient candidates of quality this year—”
“Ha!” the general laughed. “You mean these fools were the only ones to fail your preposterous examinations.”
Fail… Lukys opened his mouth and closed it. He had failed? Murmurs came from around him as his comrades glanced at one another, but Lukys couldn’t tear his eyes off their superiors. I failed?
The officers shifted nervously on their feet, but they did not refute the general’s claims. What was going on? There was anger in the general’s eyes as he looked at the Perfugian officers, but finally he gave them a dismissing nod and turned back to the recruits.
“My name is General Curtis,” he barked. “Though while you live, you will address me as ‘sir.’ I do not expect that to be long.”
The whispers started again at his words.
“Silence!”
The shout rang from the walls, so loud that Lukys actually leapt backwards. The movement sent him crashing into the recruit behind him. The mud slipped beneath their boots and before either could recover, they both went tumbling to the ground. Shocked, the other recruits stepped back as though they were contagious.
Grunting, Lukys pushed himself to his knees. The mud clung to his clothes and he raised his hands. “Sorry!”
The recruit he’d knocked down looked as surprised as Lukys, but at the apology he only nodded and flashed a grin. “No worries.”
Lukys let out a breath as the recruit offered him a hand, but before he could take it, a shadow fell across the two of them.
“What is your name, recruit?”
Crouched in the dirt, Lukys found himself staring into the ferocious eyes of the general. His heart dropped into his stomach and he would have thrown himself backwards again, had terror not frozen him in place. His mouth opened and closed, but the words took several tries to come out.
“Lu…Lukys…sir!”
“Do you make a habit of sitting in the presence of your commanders, recruit?”
“N…no, no sir!”
“Then get on your Godsdamn feet!”
Lukys practically flew off the ground as the scream rattled in his ears. Somehow the recruit he’d knocked down was already up, back straight, eyes fixed straight ahead as though he’d never fallen. Only the streak of mud on his trousers betrayed him. Lukys thought he might have been another of the noble born, but did not know his name.
The general flashed Lukys one last look of contempt, then spun on his heel and marched back to the centre of the square. His voice rang from the walls of the nearby buildings as he addressed the column.
“Welcome to the frontier, ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted, “though I daresay such titles are above you.” Clenching his hands behind his back, he turned to face them once more. “I would say we are pleased for the reinforcements, but it’s been a long time since the soldiers of Perfugia were worth more than tits on a bull. I daresay you lot will fare no better.”
Lukys’s insides twisted. Surely it couldn’t be true. The Perfugian military were renown amongst the kingdoms…he had been chosen, honoured…
…yet wasn’t this the man who had saved the civilised world? Who was Lukys to question him, to doubt the cruel words he spoke? His eyes fell to the ground and his shoulders slumped, the spear hanging loose in his grip. Could it be true?
“I have no interest in dealing with the discards of your privileged kingdom. We have no resources to waste training failures, so you will be assigned to hard labour. Your beloved Sovereigns saw no more use for you than death, but perhaps you might yet make this dump a little more bearable. At least until the Tangata come.” His eyes shone as he appraised them.
“Make no mistake though,” he continued, “when the beasts do come, it is the duty of every soul in this city to take up arms against them. You will fight with us on the frontline.”
The man’s words turned Lukys’s innards to ice. Not even Dale’s boastfulness could ignore the fact they were woefully unprepared to face the frightful creatures. They would be slaughtered!
“Perhaps you’ll be lucky, and the Tangata will be long in their arrival.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t suggest holding out hope though.”
“We don’t even know how to use a spear!” another recruit called out. “How can we fight without training?”
The general did not denounce the interruption, but a cold smile appeared on his lips. He seemed to take a grim amusement from their predicament—but what had they ever done to deserve such cruelty?
“Perhaps you’ll get lucky, and distract the beasts long enough for the real soldiers to do their job,” he replied. “Regardless, try not to die too quickly. I shudder to think what your beloved Sovereigns would send to replace you.”
With that, he turned and marched from the square. The Perfugian recruits stared after him, shocked to silence by his words. A pall of terror had fallen over the square, and Lukys found himself shaking his head. Surely this couldn’t be real, must be some cruel joke played on new arrivals. The general would return in a moment and reveal the truth, surely…
Whoorl.
The song of a horn cut through the silence.
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