Menacing thunderheads roiled overhead, at times unleashing powerful bolts of lightning that streaked across the sky to a booming chorus of thunder as if the weather was performing a deadly dance. Frosty lancets of rain cascaded from the heavens, soaking everything caught in it within a matter of seconds. Chilling wind howled through the passes, pulling cloaks open and exposing their wearers to the extreme weather.
Clusters of men sat forlornly beneath hastily erected roofs of canvas and oiled leather; the senior officers the only ones afforded the luxury of tents in the claustrophobic valley. Soldiers hugged themselves for warmth, their weapons lying beside them as they shivered and shook. Patrols regularly came and went, the fatigued and thoroughly saturated men taking welcome positions by the meagre fires as others steeled themselves for a miserable few hours in the passes.
Occasionally a fire went out, drawing groans and shouts from the soldiers who desperately tried in vain to get it going again, only to give up and move off in search of another one to stand beside, taking only the cover and leaving the wet, charred remnants behind.
Each peal of thunder shook the valley as its force was funneled through it, and most of the soldiers had been put on edge by the constant yet seemingly arbitrary booms. Many now jumped at anything and everything, their nerves completely torn. Others simply waited in silence, almost catatonic, their hands constantly at the hilts of their swords, the shafts of their pikes, the strings of their bows or the grips of their guns.
The war against the Orc tribe-under command of the Chieftain Galguz'zameg—had taken its steady toll both physically on the battlefields, and mentally in the passes, with a stalemate having developed in the tight corridors that riddled Stormbowl Valley, where legend has it two powerful mages of old once dueled, each erecting barriers around themselves and lowering their enemy's, creating a veritable maze of twists and turns, most only capable of fitting a single man through each time.
The magic, too, became trapped in the maze, and eventually created a perpetual storm above the valley. Of what happened to the mages, nobody knows. Some say they eventually met and slew each other, others say they went mad in their own maze and killed themselves, but what they wrought was both a blessing and a curse.
Galguz'zameg's assault against the Empire ground to a halt in the valley, but that in turn forced the Empire's own force, commanded by Captain Freidarik Lehnz, to maintain a full army at the mouth of the valley, to contain the Orcs until the tribe either gave up or fell to infighting.
The expected collapse of the Orc army was now long overdue.
A cheer suddenly rippled through the camp. Seats were upturned as soldiers rushed to their feet, half expecting an attack, only to have their gazes directed toward a moving clearing in the thunderheads. Through it, the clear blue sky stood out like an aquamarine gem against the obsidian blackness of cloud. Sunlight streamed through the gap, a column of shifting rays sweeping across the land of the Empire.
Captain Lehnz strode out of the command tent, followed by Markus, his attendant Warrior Priest, and the Celestial mage Anya, as well as a few other officers. He spotted the roving gap in the storm and clapped Markus on the shoulder, "Things are finally starting to look up, my friend, perhaps with two members of the Celestial Order we can break this damned storm and finally go about our job with the sun at our backs."
"Whoever it is that Balthasar sent seems capable enough of doing it alone." Markus replied, a rare smile gracing his lips.
It was Anya's face that bore the widest smile, "Oh, she is. It's no wonder we waited for so long to get some help, Balthasar want to ensure that we got the best."
Lehnz gave Anya a quizzical look, "You can tell who it is from here?"
"Yes." Anya nodded, "I recognise the way the sunlight is being focused, as well as the magic used. Every mage has a unique feel to their magic, and whilst it is usually masked, some stronger—or more arrogant—mages open it up to detection."
"And which is she? Strong? Or arrogant?"
Anya tucked a ringlet of red hair behind her ear as she thought, her face taking on a mischievous look, "Truthfully? Both."
With a lurch, the coach rolled to a stop. Isolda brushed aside a few wisps of golden hair and pushed the door open to rapturous shout, whoops and applause. The ground below was soft and muddy, closer to a runny brown liquid than dirt thanks to all the rain. With a flick of her hand, Isolda directed a focused sunbeam across the mud, vaporising the water with a loud hiss and cloud of steam to form a solid path across the marshy ground.
The act elicited only louder cheers from the crowd of soldiers, each of them soaked to their skin and all to pleased to be out of the rain. As Isolda had neared the camp she'd felt the familiar tingle of magic merging with her own to extend the ring of clear sky, and had known exactly what to expect once she arrived. She crouched low and stepped clear of the coach, the hem of her white corset dress brushing against the freshly dried dirt as she stepped onto firm ground.
Proudly, she drew her head up, stood tall with her shoulders back, and inspected the surrounding soldiers with a calculating stare. The cheering died out as each man withered under her gaze. Captain Lehnz pushed his way to the front of the gathered soldiers, his rugged, battle-scarred face a picture of fear and relief; he gave Isolda a slight nod, and it was returned in kind. Isolda shared a mutual look of recognition with the bald and well-built Warrior Priest, Markus, and then turned upon Anya. The red-haired woman stood shorter than most of the surrounding soldiers, and a full head shorter than the towering form of Markus, but she was the only one smiling; the only one who didn't carry a hint of fear in their eyes.
Isolda approached the trio, the ground solidifying beneath her feet as she walked until she was but a few inches from Lehnz's face, "Captain."
"Mistress." Lehnz replied, extending his arm before him. A handful of painfully long seconds passed until Isolda grasped his arm, and he hers. Smiles split their faces, "By the Gods, are we happy to see you." Once more the camp erupted into cheers, the soldiers' spirits lifted by the clear skies and the sight of the sun they so sorely missed. As Lehnz led Isolda through the crowd, she noted his officers ordering the grinning men back to their positions, shouting empty threats of lashings and executions if they didn't cooperate.
None them was in the mood to disobey any order right then; even if it had been the march to their doom, they would have done so with smiles upon their faces and the sun at their backs. Isolda wondered if they would indeed be called upon to do such a thing.
Lenhz spearheaded the group as they pushed through towards the tents, despite Markus shifting entire groups with just a glance in their direction. It seemed to Isolda that Lehnz had more than orc trouble if he needed to assert his authority through a proxy. It calmed her, though, to know that Anya was safe. She glanced down at the woman—hardly a girl when she had joined the order—and grinned to herself; she finally had her protégé back. Isolda wondered if Balthasar had sent her with the intent of completing Anya's induction into the higher echelons of the order.
Whatever his reasons, Isolda was only glad to be back in somewhat familiar company. The affairs of Murstvig were tiring in the extreme, and she had barely had a half hour to herself to think or sleep. Surrounded by men of the Empire and in the company of another of her order, she might not get the sleep she so craved, but at least she could be at ease, unlike her time within the thick white walls of Murstvig.
Something brushed against her, and she felt Anya's hand slip into her own. The redhead leaned in slightly, "I'm glad you're back; I missed you."
Isolda looked down into the face of the beaming woman, her bright brown eyes no different than she remembered. She squeezed Anya's hand and a smile spread itself across her lips, "I missed you too." Contented, Anya returned her gaze to watching the approaching tents. Isolda watched her for a minute, her smile melting away as she recalled the night she left.
It was true, she missed Anya dearly, but unlike the redhead, she was not glad at the meeting. She whispered a prayer to Shallya, that she have mercy just this once. As it had been each time she had prayed, the skies did not change their warning. She let go of Anya's hand, instead wrapping her arm around the redhead's waist and drawing her close.
The intent was now crystal clear to her; Balthasar had indeed sent her to complete Anya's ascension. She would be with the stars, at Shallya's side, soon enough.