25th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Outside Suderham
The Aerie, The Pomarj
Zantac's view bobbed up and down as he charged down the hill. He was close enough to the shattered south wall that he could just make out several figures lying unmoving in the street, their forms clouded by the mist.
He hadn't even reached the yellow smoke plume yet, but his very next breath triggered Zantac's lungs to rebel.
The spasm was enough to trip him up. The mage rolled over and over, ending in a coughing heap at the bottom of the hill. Zantac only made it as far as his knees before his stomach ejected the remnants of the mussels he had eaten earlier.
Even through the hacking and retching, Zantac forced his legs to stand him upright again. Trying to calm his lungs with slow, shallow breaths, the magic-user was deciding which way to go next when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
He whirled around to stare into Unru's brown eyes.
The illusionist seemed to be using Zantac as a pillar to lean on more than in any effort to restrain his fellow mage.
"Thanks for falling," Unru gasped between strained breaths. "I… couldn't have caught up to you… otherwise." Unru's chest heaved, and his face showed the strain of trying not to fall into a fit of coughing and retching. "Just where… do you think you're going?"
"None of your business," Zantac snarled. "Go back to the others."
He turned to leave, but Unru tightened his grip.
"Always said… you can be a mage… and still be ignorant." The Yatian wizard glared hard at Zantac while still trying to regain his wind. "Can't you tell by now… this gas is poisonous? Is this whore of yours so stupid… that you really think she'd have stayed?"
Zantac, who had raised his fist to strike Unru when he had called Beryl a whore, stayed his hand as the illusionist's words sank in.
And he remembered what he had told her.
I want you to be prepared, Beryl, so here's what I want you to do… gather whatever possessions you can together… be prepared to leave at a moment's notice- you'll have to use your own judgment for that."
"The Rose was in the northwest quadrant," Zantac mused, trying to sort through the possibilities. "The gas might not have reached there yet."
Unru shook his head. "If she has half a brain in her head, she wouldn't sit around waiting for poison gas or a collapsing ceiling to kill her. She'd do what probably everyone else has done; head for the docks."
Zantac couldn't ignore the grim conclusion.
"There aren't nearly enough boats to evacuate the entire population of this island, Unru. One out of every thirty, if that."
"And we don't hurry, Zantac, we're not going to be one of the lucky ones."
The two magic-users locked eyes for a moment, and then Zantac peered into the city again.
From what he could tell, the yellow smoke was indeed spreading out within Suderham's walls, but it was primarily moving straight northwards. Along the inside of the walls, it seemed make it might be still safe enough to breathe, at least for a while.
I have to know, Zantac thought. I have to know before I go to the docks.
He turned and looked back up the hill. The others were starting to descend towards them, but Zantac waved them on towards the west.
"Go on!" he shouted. "We'll meet up with you at the docks!"
Again, Elrohir looked behind him.
They weren't making the time they needed to.
Arwald was in the rear, weighed down with Talass' body, but Thorimund was doing no better. The mage was trying to keep the pace, but he was still weak from the violet fungi venom and kept stumbling.
Thorimund suddenly yelped with surprise as a pair of strong arms caught him under his knees and lifted him up into a cradle carry.
"Don't get any ideas," Argo grinned at him. "Remember, I'm a married man."
The group rounded the rubble that was once Suderham's southwestern guard tower; and stopped short.
A bizarre tableau lay before them.
Perhaps twenty people, men and women stood in front of them. Some were nearly nude, but others wore the fashionable clothes of nobility. The swiftest of glances however, showed that they were not native to these clothes. They were ill-fitting and thrown on haphazardly.
These were former slaves.
Most of these people were standing by a half-dozen sharpened stakes that had been jammed into the ground, pointed side up. Five men lay dead, impaled on these stakes, the wooden spears covered with blood jutting out of their chests.
Three of the former slaves were holding aloft the body of another young man; a slaver or noble, no doubt, who was twisting and screaming piteously for his life as his bearers headed for the lone unoccupied stake that waited him. The small crowd roared with anticipation.
All this Elrohir and his companions saw in a split-second. The ranger roared for them to stop, but it was too late; the last victim was hurled onto the stake even as his killers whipped their heads around.
Nesco cried out and turned her head away as the blood spewed skyward and the man's dying scream split the air.
But now Aslan was moving.
The paladin charged the mass of ex-slaves, his sword waving in the air around him. Several of the crowd held weapons themselves, but they had no stomach for a melee. They all turned and fled
Aslan stopped, but even as the others joined him, their friend was still screaming after the retreating mob.
"Is this helping? Will vengeance save you? Is this how you want to die- like those who called themselves your masters? Do your lives mean so little to you that you'd throw them away on hate?"
The paladin abruptly turned and looked back and up at the erupting form of Mount Flamenblut.
"Why are you doing this?" Aslan screamed at the Earth Dragon. "What kind of god are you? These are your own people, damn you! THEY'RE YOUR OWN PEOPLE!"
The volcano paid him no heed.
The paladin buried his face in his hands and wept.
Nesco stared in despair at Aslan.
He was right, she knew. Almost everyone on The Aerie was going to die from the very god they worshipped. She'd shed no tears for The Nine or their minions, but everyone here wasn't a monster.
They were people, just trying to live. Just trying to survive. Men, women, children…
The enormity of it overwhelmed Nesco. She tried to find deep within herself the will to keep going.
And then she heard the faint voice behind her.
"Bretagne."
Nesco spun around and gasped in horror.
His arms and legs moving feebly and blood dribbling from his mouth, Davis stared at Lady Cynewine.
"Lass," the young man moaned. "Whatever yer name be… please help me… please…"
Nesco couldn't help but turn away.
When she looked back, Davis was staring blankly right through her.
She glanced over at the rest of her companions. Occupied with Aslan, who looked shaky but ready to move on, they hadn't noticed Davis.
She fell into step with them as they moved on.
Indecision is its own solution to many problems, Lady Cynewine, an inner voice told her.
Don't you know that by now?
As the party headed north now, skirting Suderham's western wall, the sounds of shouting, screaming and fighting from somewhere unseen up ahead began to overpower all others, even that of Mount Flamenblut itself.
To their left, they could see the tongue of lava extruding into the wheat fields. They were outpacing the river of molten rock, but patches of wheat were burning here and there everywhere, set aflame by burning ash that had drifted down.
The fields seemed to be deserted, but suddenly there was a horrifying scream.
It went on and on.
Another joined it.
And Nesco bolted towards them.
Lady Cynewine didn't know why she was doing this.
Trying to save unknown people from an unknown danger when they were all certain to die anyway was the very definition of futility.
She looked to her right as she ran.
Cygnus, keeping pace with the ranger, gave her a shrug and a smile.
Nesco let the shouts of the others fall behind as she returned the mage's smile.
Now I know. It's who I am.
The duo burst out into a burnt crop circle and stopped.
A man lay unmoving on the ground in the mist of the circle, his body completely ablaze.
A middle-aged woman was standing near him, screaming in both sorrow and fear.
And the reason for the latter was now emerging from the northern edge of the clearing.
Nesco sucked in her breath; for an instant, the figure looked like a child completely immersed in molten lava!
But it wasn't screaming. And it wasn't falling down.
From its smiling mouth came the sound of fire, hot blowing air and other sounds.
Sounds that almost sounded like giggling.
"Cygnus," Nesco whispered. "What is that thing?"
"I don't know, Nesco," the tall wizard replied quietly, "but I think it came from the volcano. Portals to the Plane of Fire sometimes open within them."
The woman seemed to notice the pair now.
"Please!" she shrieked, pointing at the figure lying on the ground. "Please save my husband! I beg you!"
The lava child, or whatever it was, swung its head towards the woman.
Giggling a fiery giggle again, it began to move towards her.
"Run!" Nesco shouted, but the woman was already running away.
Leather armor and a cheap sword against some extraplanar horror, Lady Cynewine thought wryly as she charged forward to intercept the molten monster.
The ranger leapt forward and to the right of the creature. It swung its hand towards her, but Nesco hit the ground just short of the short humanoid's swing. Rolling past the thing, Nesco's sword shot out and sliced across the creature's molten belly.
The creature's bellow literally sounded like a great bellow fueling a fire.
Burning heat blasted Nesco. It was like entering a bonfire.
She continued the roll and sprang to her feet. One glance showed the woman a better distance away, but now she stopped and looked back.
"Keep running!" Lady Cynewine shouted, putting as much of her mother's voice into it as she could.
The woman turned and ran out of sight.
"Damn it!" yelled Cygnus.
Nesco whirled, but the lava creature was standing halfway between the two of them and poking at its stomach where Nesco had cut it.
Cygnus was angry.
"I forgot the quartz! I forgot the damn piece of quartz! I gave it to Sitdale to hold!"
"What do you want it for? I don't see any scrolls of spells!" Nesco shouted back.
"There's another spell I have memorized that utilizes it, but I don't- oh, hang it! Stay clear of that thing, Nesco! I'll be right back!"
The mage bolted into the tall wheat to the east, where they had come from, and was quickly lost to sight.
Nesco looked at her right arm. It already sported small burns.
And then she noticed the tip of her sword had been melted away.
The magma man began to move towards her again.
It was odd, Nesco thought, as kept her distance from the creature, moving in a rough circle so she didn't leave the clearing. The creature maintained a continuous smile on its face, and it wasn't so much running on its short legs as skipping.
This lava child seemed to be having a grand old time. It seemed to be having fun in the midst of all this madness. It-
Fun?
Nesco glanced towards the south.
About twenty feet past the southern edge of the clearing, the ranger could see the head and shoulders of a scarecrow sticking up above the wheat stalks.
Nesco Cynewine bolted for it.
The creature followed.
The ranger positioned herself about ten feet behind and to the east of the scarecrow.
The fiery outsider slowed as it approached the scarecrow, which started to smolder from the creature's proximity.
The thing threw one last glance at Nesco and then gleefully stepped forward, touching the scarecrow almost tenderly.
The wooden frame and all its clothing instantly erupted in flame; a tower of fire spiraling briefly towards the cloudy sky above.
The creature clapped its stubby hands together and giggled again.
It IS a child! Nesco thought, as the ranger slowly made her way back to the clearing. In mentality, if not in actuality. Cygnus said it came from the Plane of Fire. Our world must be alien to it as the World of Flame would be to us. It probably doesn't even understand that fire hurts us. It just likes to watch things burn- things which don't exist where it comes from.
The ranger looked again at the body lying motionless in the clearing. It only took a glance to see that the man was dead.
Ignorance again, Nesco thought as she closed her eyes in grief. Someone always pays for it.
The sound of Cygnus casting made her open her eyes.
The Aardian wizard was standing at the edge of the clearing; Sitdale beside him. Both wore satisfied grins on their faces.
Nesco turned towards where the scarecrow had been- but the only thing that could be seen was a hemisphere of absolute whiteness, about ten feet high and wide.
"An ice shell?" she queried, turning back to the two mages.
Cygnus nodded. "That should hold it for at least a few minutes. Of course, that spell used the quartz as a component, not a focus."
Nesco shook her head. "I don't understand the difference."
Sitdale answered for her. "The quartz is gone, Lady Cynewine; that's the important thing. Hope we don't run across any more scrolls."
"Unlikely," Cygnus grunted. "I assume the woman got away." He glanced over to the clearing's center and his mouth tightened. "The man's dead, I presume?"
Nesco nodded, suddenly unable to speak.
Cygnus ran a hand over his face. "Damn," he said softly. "Hope we don't run into his wife again." The mage took a deep breath. "Let's go. The others are waiting for us."
"Satisfied?" Unru yelled as Zantac burst out of The Rose.
The Willip wizard pulled the wet towel of his mouth just long enough to reply.
"No one in there."
"What a surprise," Unru responded. "Let's get out of here."
Everyone managed to meet up together at the outskirts of Scumslum, just to the north of Suderham.
It hadn't been easy. The area was in absolute chaos. People were swirling and running about; clawing and fighting to get past each other. Shouts and screams filled the air.
The rattletrap houses were starting to go up in flames, the fire almost leaping from one home to the next adjoining one. Nesco looked around for any sign of what Sitdale had said was called a magman, but she didn't see it. The whole dock area was one big firetrap anyway. A simple spark could wreak as much havoc as an army of fire elementals, given enough time.
Elrohir looked north towards the docks. They couldn't see if there were any boats still in port- there were just too many people.
However, the fact that there seemed to be several full-scale riots breaking out indicated that there just might be.
Then Tojo pointed towards one dock.
"See top of mast, Errorir-sama. Possibry garrery of some kind."
"Good as any," the team leader agreed. "Let's move, people!"
Nesco, currently holding the rear guard, tried to keep her heart closed as she started to shove her way past the throng.
The ranger threw off grasping, clinging hands and tried to close her ears to the pleas for deliverance and the wails of the populace.
And then somehow, one voice cut threw them all.
"Nesco! Nesco Cynewine!"
The ranger whirled about. A few feet behind her, the crowd suddenly parted as a man dressed in the chainmail and helm of a Slave Lord officer appeared, charging directly at her and yelling.
He was on her in an instant.