"Sealed in the Forbidden Ground, we lay to rest our deepest shame and our brightest hope. That our children may know peace, we entomb the weapons of our enemies and our own in the soil, so that something bright may grow out of something dark."
Chapter XVIII: A Power Like the Sun
-Hugo-
An unnatural wind still whistled across the plains, refusing to die though the magic that had sown the whirlwind had long since petered out. The grass rippled beneath its caress, and the hem of Hugo's shirt flapped against his waist. The smell of ashes wafted past his nose from time to time as the remains of the dying embers were swept away.
Borus walked towards his horse. The charger stood like a statue carved from marble—polished but freckled with blood. The interlocking steel plates of the knight's armor glinted in the light of the full moon.
Hugo stood a few yards away. He bored his eyes into the Borus' back, imagining blades slipping past the armor and plunging into the knight's flesh. His fingers itched on his dagger's handle. Could he let him walk away?
A hand alighted on Hugo's arm. He glanced to see Yumi frowning at him.
"Don't," she said.
For a moment he saw Chris' face superimposed over Yumi's—that same frown, striking down his resolve. The vision faded, and he shrugged her away. Sighing, he tore his fingers from the hilt and placed both hands on his hips.
"Borus."
The knight had grasped the reins, and now turned to cock his head at Hugo as he checked the leather straps.
"I hate to say it," Hugo began. He shook his head, "Spirits, I hate even thinking about it, but you and I will do better together."
Borus furrowed his brows, and his face twisted with ill-hidden distaste. He looked away, and when he spoke, every word sounded forced. "I agreed to a truce. But you and I, we will never work together."
"Damn it, Borus. We can save her. Together."
When Borus turned to face him again, his face was impassive. "You'll slow me down," he said. He put a foot in the stirrup. "Do you even know how to ride?" The knight did not wait for an answer, but instead swung himself up and astride the horse.
Hugo cursed the Ironhead under his breath. "You're not in Zexen now," he said. "You'll need me."
Borus trotted over near Hugo. Iron went snick-snack against wood as his sword leapt into his hand. He flourished the weapon and snapped it still, blade vertical, between his eyes.
"I need naught but my sword. Witness, barbarian, the resolve of a Knight of Zexen!" He waited for a heartbeat, then shouted a "hiyaaah!" and spurred his charger into motion. Iron-shod hoofs clomped as he galloped away, sword trailing to cut through the wind.
Hugo followed with his eyes until the white horse was swallowed by the night and the clatter of horse's hoofs was drowned by the wind. He turned to Yumi.
The woman looked like she was about to sag into the earth. "Don't go after the Harmonians alone."
"I hope the fool trips on a sword. I don't need him." Hugo started down towards the cluster of singed wagons where the Wind Seekers huddled together, gathering their belongings and licking their wounds. Bylsma stood among them, attentive to her people but casting glances Hugo's way every few seconds.
Yumi jogged to keep up with him. She straightened her back and fell in step. "You're just as likely to get yourself killed as you are to save her. It's better to wait. Yun says they won't kill her. Not yet, anyway. There's time to—"
"No." He couldn't trust a girl's visions when Chris was in danger. What if she were wrong?
Yumi let slip a groan. "Hugo, you're a fool." She slipped in front of him, faced him down with arms crossed. It almost seemed that she had to hike up her bosom to fit her arms around her stomach. "What are you going to do when you find her? Kill every Harmonian soldier?"
Hugo halted, regarded her. When he looked at her he saw the forms of Chris. Her eyes digging into his. He tried to imagine what she would look like, what she'd say. Would she try to dissuade him, were she in the same position? He did not know, but decided it didn't matter.
"I've started down this path," he said. He reached out, laid his hands as weights on Yumi's shoulders, and then gently but firmly pushed her aside. She gave a start, but did not resist. "Spirits damn me," he added, "I mean to see it through."
Yumi followed in his wake, muttering some half-heard, unflattering words of comment upon Hugo and men in general. A few steps ahead, she sighed and caught up with him at a jog.
"It's not too late. We could follow him. We may be able to keep up."
Hugo turned his head to face her. A deep frown creased her forehead, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. He smirked, and turned to regard the wagons. Among the painted walls, half a dozen remaining horses still grazed.
"No," he said. "He'll slow us down."
-The Vessel-
The earth shook around him, shaking loose soil that clumped against his head and shoulders. The clatter and clack of disturbed stones was his first sensation. He awoke gasping for air, spitting and choking on chunks of muddy clay. It was dark. Too tight. He clawed at the earth, kicking and shoving and using limbs he didn't remember having. The walls of his prison gave way, but not quick enough. Raining dirt tracked his wedge-shaped head. He strained to stretch out all his limbs, but there was no room. Something on his back flexed but was frustrated by the cramped space. He opened his maws and snarled in frustration. The sound came out unfamiliar. He tasted sulfur in his mouth. And then he breathed fire.
A flash of heat burgeoned, and the air turned to hissing steam. Fire leapt in cascades from his throat, hammered against the earth like a fist, and burst through. There was a gasp as air was sucked into the confined space, and the fire lit up in a torch aboveground.
Cinders skirled down, flaking against his scales. The heat hadn't touched him. All he felt was a tingling sensation dotting his limbs. He clawed at the lip of the pit, jostled and crushed himself against the walls, and climbed out.
He collapsed with a thud and wheezed for air; shook his head violently. He looked out over a landscape of knee-high grasses, dotted with small bloodwood and holly. Fire bloomed around him. His escape had ignited the dry grasses, and riven trails of burgeoning wildfire spread around him. Images flashed through his mind. The same landscape, in a different time. A world enveloped in flame. His last stand. The memory was raw and immediate, and begged to be played out again.
But this was now. The lurid glare of fire illuminated rows of cairns, flames sweeping around them. Smoke curled towards the night sky above the solemn graves. Stones piled upon stones to mark the passing of warriors felled in battle. In this case, felled by a rune. There were so many of them.
The Vessel stretched out to a height of fifteen feet, threw back his wings with a rush of air, and bent his head down. Scarlet scales glimmered in firelight, sheathing his body and limbs. He stood on thick rear legs the size of a man and about as powerful. He turned his forearms over to look at the vicious claws tapering to points at the end of the hands. A horse could lose its head to these. He twisted, and looked over his shoulder to see leathery wings with a span of ten feet to either side shoot out from his back.
He landed on his forearms with a thud. This was not the body he remembered. But his scales were branded with a patchwork of Fire and Rage Runes, all faintly glowing with the residue of magical power he'd expelled in his breath. That much was the same.
But no, there was a final memory of light and fire and death and chaos. An image etched into his mind. There had been a change; a burst of potential unleashed in a sea of flame, washing over everything, licking the ground clean. Leaving it ripe for regrowth. Just as the wildfire now burned out of control.
Yes, there had been a change. And he could revert it. He focused, drawing on the magic reserves of his core—bypassing the Fire and Rage Runes, he searched for the swirl of untapped potential at his center. That which was fashioned by another, but was his to tap, to control.
He shrank towards the ground. Scales healed over like scabs giving way to new flesh. Claws retracted like nails sinking back into the fingers. The wedge-shaped head grew angular, smoothed, became soft and delicate. Hair sprouted from his pate, coming to his neck. He sunk to the height of a man, and the transformation came to a close.
He staggered, lurched forward onto hands and knees, and gasped for air. He leaned back, knotted hands through his hair, and caught his breath. He blinked, spitting phlegm.
He settled back on his haunches and noticed that his hand was shivering like a leaf on the wind. What body was now his true form? He could not say. The change was temporary, but it suited him. He got to his feet, closed his eyes, and let his mind wander in search of power.
He swept outward, imagined hands feeling at the contours of the landscape, groping for hills and valleys. Then he swept upward, sailed on the wind.
The True Lightning Rune was near. He could feel it, its hated wielder hesitating on the fringe of the theater. He marked the distance, the direction, then swept on. That was for later.
He could not find the True Water Rune. It was dormant, but more than that… it was sealed. Somewhere out of reach. No matter. It was not his concern.
He froze. The True Wind Rune… and the True Earth Rune. They were so close that his first sweep had overlooked them. And both runes were near to each other. What did this mean? The runes ought to remain in Harmonia, as last he knew them to. Had they too been stolen? He could sense nothing about their wielders. Something blocked his attempts of scrutiny. He noted their location, but let it pass.
His blood began to pump as he expanded his search grid. The True Fire Rune. It lay dormant: that much was clear. But unlike the True Water Rune, no seal would keep him from this rune. The void within him howled its need. It would be his.
There. His breath hitched. He'd found it. It was buried, hidden away from the world. Sealed with powerful wards. None of which would even cause his step to falter. He turned to face east, towards the location of the True Fire Rune.
But first he needed an army. There was power in the ground here; violence and death, strong enough to be useful. His body lit up like a torch as the Rage Runes were activated in a sweep from head to toe. He threw his arms up, summoning a fire of the soul to stir the restless spirits of the earth.
The cairns quivered. Stones began to fall, then toppled and rolled away to clatter and click against each other on the bare, burnt ground. Skeletal hands clawed through the soil, digging open pits. The figures that emerged from the graves were still wearing the armor they'd been slain in; still clutching weapons dulled by battle. But their skin had been peeled away by the ravages of time; their flesh stripped by hungry insects in the earth.
They shuffled towards him, flickering flames lighting their empty eye-sockets. They stood around him. An army of dead warriors, its ranks swelling with each moment.
The Vessel released the magic, bound it to last until his purpose was fulfilled. He paused for a moment, searching the earth below. There was something else buried, deeper in the ground. Something that had persisted for longer than he within a subterranean prison. But this presence was biding its time.
Unlike the Vessel, it was not yet ready to be released.
-Hugo-
"Absolutely not," Bylsma said.
The woman had planted fists on her hips, and now regarded Hugo with hawkish defiance. The Wind Seekers had circled their wagons around a patch of damp grasses surrounded by swaths of singed earth. Bylsma had tied a colorful bandana round her forehead, hiding the rune that before had glowed like an emerald. She stood at the head of a group of Wind Seekers collecting reins and pulling the horses back towards the wagons. The remaining survivors huddled inside, or crawled over the drivers' seats.
"One horse is all I need," Hugo said.
"Two," Yumi said. Bylsma's eyes swung to her. "We'll need two," she pressed. She pursed her lips at Hugo and added, "Don't even say it."
Come or don't; it didn't matter to Hugo. She could follow in his wake. He shrugged.
Lilly ducked out of a wagon, scrambled to the ground and jogged towards them, clasping her sheathed rapier in place lest she stumble over the scabbard. She looked around, took in the stern faces.
"Are we leaving?"
Bylsma shook her head. "There will be no horses. It will be some time before you make your own decisions again, son of Lucia." She raised a gnarled finger at Hugo. "Survival must be our first priority. And you owe it to us to help protect the caravan, not run off to play the hero!" She gestured wildly as if to punctuate her words.
"How dare you!" Yumi started towards the woman before stopping herself. Her eyes had widened and were straining to hold back emotion. "The son of Lucia owes you nothing, witch."
Bylsma's mouth twitched, but she ignored the Kinese woman. Instead she marched up right near Hugo's chest, cocked her head up, and fixed him with a steely look.
"You would leave us unguarded. You would ride to rescue this woman."
Hugo clenched his jaw. "I will crawl on my hands and knees if necessary."
Bylsma slowly shook her head, her mouth twisting as if she tasted something sour. "I see it in your eyes. Why would you betray your own people for this woman? You hardly even know her."
Hugo gave a curt laugh, then shook his head in disgust. "I know what you are. You've been trying to teach us a harsh lesson about prejudice. But you're no better. You serve no one but yourself, and you've taught me nothing." He sneered. "It's true I don't know Chris well yet. But she's already taught me much more than you have."
Lilly gasped. "Hugo!"
Bylsma's face had turned the color of ashes on the wind. Her face twisted and contorted in rage. When she spoke, her words were filled with venom.
"Then you shall walk. Or, indeed, crawl on your hands and knees, as you so desire."
Hugo shoved her aside. "I'm taking a horse." He stalked past her, then past the first two horses to the dun mare he'd picked out days past. Without a doubt she was the finest of the bunch. The Wind Seekers stared at him, some with anger in their eyes, but none made a move to stop him—not even the flaxen-haired boy holding the reins to the mare. The lad simply handed him the leather and stepped back.
Hugo didn't meet their eyes. He had a feeling his mother would have his hide for this one day, but he would face that thunderstorm when the clouds came. He gained the saddle in one swift leap, and calmed the mare with a pat on the neck.
Yumi, saying nothing, had chosen a horse for herself, and now tested out the reins and stirrup, adjusted the saddle. Yun had joined her, and now watched Hugo as if his next act was the key to some great revelation.
As Hugo trotted past her, Lilly's eyes darted from Hugo to Yumi, to Yun, counting silently. Her eyes widened. "This is preposterous! I'll have to ride with you."
"Get your own horse."
Lilly shook her head so hard she had to hold onto her feathered hat. "No, that won't do. I'm an ambassador of the Great Republic of Tinto. That would be a terrible diplomatic faux pas."
Hugo met her words with a long look, and silence.
Lilly sighed, and wilted beneath her hat. "Fine." She traipsed up to the horse and flapped a hand at him. "I ought to be the one to handle the reins."
Hugo almost laughed. "No."
Lilly cocked her head and glared at him. She stood blade-straight, legs together and hands on her hips. "You're not much of a gentleman, you know."
"I still don't know what that word means." He shrugged. "Make up your mind."
Lilly groaned and moaned, twisted her mouth and walked with a sullen clip to her steps. Her breeches stretched as she straddled the saddle behind him. She clasped her hands around his waist, pushed up against his back. Her eyes shot lightning. "You'd best not take any liberties with me. I'm a lady, you know."
He glanced back at her, and saw a petulant look on her face. He wouldn't dream of it.
-Caesar-
Caesar waited for Hugo at the edge of the camp. He pulled up his coat against the wind, and adjusted the high collar to shelter his neck.
"You're leaving."
Hugo nodded. Behind him, Lilly had fixed a sullen look on his neck.
Caesar smirked. The girl was easy enough on the eyes, but… he did not envy Hugo his new companion, even though the girl's pert breasts pressed up against his back most gloriously. Funny; he seemed oblivious to that, too. Caesar wondered what went through the man's head. Was it true that the so-called 'barbarians' had a one-track mind? But no, Hugo was no fool. And Lilly wasn't as scatter-brained as she seemed. She sure had an eye for Hugo. Would she follow through on that? He wondered.
"Apple and I aren't much in the way of fighters," Caesar said.
"Don't worry about it," Hugo said. He guided his horse around Caesar. "I've got to catch up to the Ironhead before he gets Chris into trouble."
"Hugo," Caesar called after him. He waited for their heads to turn. "Be careful. The Harmonians have been playing at war for centuries. They're not knights, but professional soldiers. You'll know the difference soon enough. Not a lot will surprise these people." He glanced at the reddish glare building on the horizon to the north. "Though today may be a first." He wiped away his smile. "Don't underestimate the Harmonians."
Hugo nodded. "I won't."
"And another thing," Caesar said, strolling towards them, ducking his head and scratching his hair. "I don't know much about this Huarn fellow and his advance guard of ruffians. They're frontrunners and they'll be cut loose to make their own decisions, fast and easy. But I know for a fact that the main Harmonian army has a damn good strategist."
Hugo straightened in his saddle. "I don't intend to fight the Harmonian army."
Caesar laughed. "No one ever does."
He watched them canter away into the night. The two Kinese women followed in their wake. The older was a sight to behold. That dainty hair. The curves. He felt dirty just looking at those breasts, wondering what they'd— No. He abandoned that train of thought. He grinned at her as she passed, and felt color rush to his cheeks. There was a gleam in those eyes that made his breath shorter.
The little girl was another matter. How old was she? Ten, twelve? She seemed older. It was the eyes; the eyes that gave him the creeps. The girl betrayed no hint of reaction or emotion, but those piercing eyes seemed like they could look right into his soul. He shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold.
When they were gone, Caesar let out a sigh and stuck his hands in his pockets. He felt a twinge of guilt at letting them go off on their own, but what could he do? Nothing, that was what. Besides, he had his own problems to consider. Things were drawing taut, like a rope strung up real tight. He sighed, and looked around.
Now where did that fascinating ex-gunner go?
-Chris-
Chris stumbled forward, face brushing against the canvas on the way into the tent. She glanced back but saw no sign of the soldier who had pushed her inside.
Huarn was hunched over a map rolled out across the top of a trestle table—the only furniture in the hastily erected tent—squinting as he read the map by the lantern's light. Upon seeing her, he froze up, and a predatory smile spread on his lips.
She had to be impressed with the efficiency of the Harmonian soldiers. Within moments of making camp, the commander's tent had been pitched at right angles within the imagined compound. It was a thing to behold. She approached the table, chafing against the bonds binding her hands behind her back. She leaned in and studied the map.
"You will march right through the Forbidden Ground."
Huarn drummed his fingers against the tabletop. "Superstition. No more."
Chris considered what she had heard the Harmonian captain and the gunner speak of. "You seek a True Rune. A power that devastated two armies a generation ago. A power better left buried."
"I see that you disapprove," he said. He rolled up the map and tapped one end against the palm of his hand.
"This would be the purpose," she began, shifting out of the lamplight, "Of your stay behind enemy lines."
Huarn smiled and handed the map to an aide standing in the shadows. He pulled his gloves from his belt. "They aren't much of lines around here. Harmonian property was left in this place. I am here to retrieve it." Behind him, the aide bent down to replace the map scroll in a hefty brass-bound wooden chest.
"The rune," Chris said.
Huarn pulled on the gloves. "It was stolen from Crystal Valley. By your 'Flame Champion.'"
Chris straightened her back, and tried to ignore the growing stiffness in her arms. "No man or woman is intended to own the True Runes," she said. But she couldn't help but imagine the things Zexen might accomplish with the backing of a True Rune. Great things.
Huarn's reply was swift: "No man but the Absolute One—may he be eternal." Something about the intonation; it sounded like a mantra, repeated for the thousandth time. But there was conviction in the words.
Chris nodded, staring at the surrounding canvas as it rippled in the breeze. The Harmonians were dangerous, in more ways than one. Such discipline they displayed. If Chris had but four, maybe five companies of such seasoned soldiers, she would need no True Rune to keep Zexen safe and in control. It would be better than a True Rune. But these Harmonians worshipped their Lord Hikusaak like the pious of Vinay worshipped the Goddess. It was an unhealthy obsession: a sin, but more importantly, a vice. A dangerous one, that made the Harmonians unpredictable at best. Far better then if such fervor could be channeled into more sensible modes of thinking. More like ours.
Huarn hunched over the table, and it squeaked beneath the weight of his splayed-out palms. He had dismissed his aide, and now watched her out of the corner of his eye. His lips twitched. "Impersonating an aristocrat is a serious offense in Harmonia."
Chris blinked. She stretched out her neck in circles and stared at the man. "What?"
His smile widened. He nodded, and his eyes rose to her hairline. "In Harmonia, blonde hair is a trait possessed only by the aristocrats. You've dyed your hair, haven't you?" He chuckled. "Is your hair naturally silver? I'd like to find that out." He stroked his chin with a finger.
She stiffened. Something about the question raised her hackles. "So," she ventured, struggling for an explanation to his line of reasoning, "We come to the matter of my captivity. Why do you hold me?"
Huarn shook his head, squeezing around the table. "I thought to get some answers out of you, but that will have to wait. Of course as the Silver Maiden, we'd rather you weren't around to structure any Zexonian defense worth mentioning. If it comes to that." The last part sounded tacked on.
"So it is an invasion you are after."
Huarn stood before her, hands clasped behind his back as if to mimic her imprisonment. "I told you; I came for the rune." He rolled his shoulders, and smiled. "Now that it's been located, I'm not hellbent on keeping you." He leaned from side to side to study her cheeks and shoulders. "With the True Runes as my witness, I might be persuaded to cut those bonds… if you were very nice to me."
Chris arched an eyebrow. "I have been nothing but courteous." She twisted in place to show her bound hands.
Huarn looked at her hands as if they contained some treasure hidden from him. His eyes snapped back up to hers, and he laughed. "You misunderstand. You're very innocent. It's… charming."
Chris' breath hitched. "This is inappropriate."
Huarn gave her a long look before sighing. His lips twisted into a self-mocking smile. "It's this wretched lonely life of soldiery, you know. I shouldn't be letting it get to me. But you're damned beautiful."
Chris' blood flared. Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Keep your opinions to yourself."
Huarn reached out to touch her chin.
She recoiled, stumbling back two steps before straightening and squaring her shoulders. She wished her hands were free—wished she had a sword to skewer him with.
Huarn shook his head. "You're being unreasonable. It's part of your charm, for sure. But do you really understand the situation? As far as Harmonia is concerned, having you out of the picture would be ideal. And you're already dead to the people of Zexen. Remember? If you died now, no one would even know about it."
The lamp guttered momentarily, casting his face in shadows for a moment before flaring back to life. His eyes gleamed with a disturbing hunger in the dark. She wondered if he was fully aware of it himself.
"Remember your place," she said. It was a struggle to moderate her voice. "You are a soldier. Not a brigand."
Huarn laughed. "Am I holding a blade to your slender neck, Silver Maiden? I could." He drew the sword in a single swift motion and held it out to his side. The gleam in his eyes had burgeoned into something more desperate, now. Something warring for control.
Chris did not flinch. She thought she didn't, at least. She remained still.
Huarn's features slowly drained of emotion, and then he managed a wan smile as he sheathed his sword with a snick of steel against wood. "I am not a cruel man, Silver Maiden." The appellation sounded sordid on his lips. "What I offer is an arrangement that would be to our mutual benefit. And it would cost you very little indeed, for so much in return."
Chris fought down a snarl, and replaced it with what she thought was a smile. Blood pounded in her skull. Very little? What did he know of her. Nothing. He knew nothing of her. "Draw your sword. Cut me down. I will die a knight," she managed through gritted teeth.
Huarn's hand froze on the hilt of his sword. "Is that a no?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
She did not respond.
There was the sound of footsteps outside, breaking the silence. A hurried conversation between the on-duty guards and the newcomer followed, muffled by the canvas. Then a soldier ducked into the tent. He hesitated as two pairs of eyes turned on him. In fact, he almost stumbled back half a step before catching himself and saluting, fist to heart.
"Sir!"
Something about the soldier's formality rubbed off on the captain. Or perhaps it was the haunted look on the young man's face that sobered Huarn up. "Report, soldier."
"Something's coming, sir!"
"You interrupted me. It'd better be damned good 'something,' soldier."
"Something…" The soldier's mouth worked in silence, grasping for the right word. He finally settled for, "…wrong."
-?-
Frozen in place, Corporal Robec stared at the figures shambling up the hillside towards the camp. He'd been a soldier for fourteen years. He'd taken part of a total of twenty-three campaigns, two of which had been termed 'incidents' and promptly stricken from the annals of Holy Harmonia—may it be forever. He'd fought back border raids, squashed peasant rebellions, lost a finger or two in pitched battles, and looted a capital. He'd seen an insane general turn his own camp into a mire of blood and death in one mad night.
But he'd never seen anything like this.
The things that stilted into view were not human. Rotted strips of leather hung from desiccated shoulders and ribcages. Broken chainmail clinked against bone. Hands clutched axes, swords, spears, and shields in rigor mortis. Callous, heedless, as if it didn't even matter that some of the weapons were broken stumps beyond repair. Clumped tufts of moldering hair corded out from the conical helmet sitting askew one's head. Another had but half a head remaining, the skull shorn in twain from brow to ear, leaving a disturbing gap where the brain should be. It stumbled forward, one step at a time. Behind it, a motley legion of the undead came into view. They marched in silence.
Corporal Robec snapped back to reality with a spasm like being woken out of a bad dream by a shower of ice water. He pulled out his sword, jabbed it high into the air, and roared "Form a line!"
Silence met him. On his left, Welc steadied himself with both hands on his spear. The man shivered like a virgin on her wedding night. Past him, boot marks scuffing the grass was all that remained of Joam and Seccan. On his right, Achol's mouth hung open. The man's eyes were popped wide as if trying to escape from their sockets. He was hunched forward in shock, and looked even more ungainly than usual. Behind him, Dem and Kantz stirred awake, checking armor straps and leveling spears.
Bootsteps behind Robec. Chainmail chinked like rustled coins in a chest. Parras adjusted his helm as he took his place beside Robec. Lugan trailed him, hopping on one foot adjusting the straps on his greaves to the tune of profane curses.
Parras nudged his visor back and saluted. "Joam and Seccan looked like they were in a hurry somewhere—Holy Perpetuator!—what is that?!" He jabbed a finger at the approaching dead.
Robec judged the distance at sixty feet. They didn't move fast, but then he wasn't in a hurry to meet them.
He glowered at Parras. "I want their sorry hides back here! We're forming a line to beat them off." The squad was listening now, but the soldiers were crowding him, shifting anxiously. Notably, not forming a line.
Parras' eyes shifted from the shambling legion to Robec. He stared at the corporal as if searching his eyes for signs of insanity.
"Corporal, they're dead! That's rune magic, right? We're not equipped to—"
On a surge of adrenaline, Robec lifted Parras up by his collar—man, armor, and all—and snarled, "We're chasing a True Rune. What in the name of the Absolute One—may he be eternal—did you expect? We are Holy Harmonia. No one's been dead long enough to send us fleeing! We form a line, or we die."
Parras' jaw dropped open. He looked almost as shocked as Robec felt. Robec's grip weakened, arm trembling, until the man's feet touched ground again. Numbed, the soldier nodded and ran off, shouting, "Joam, Seccan! You cowardly swines!"
Robec swept his gaze over the others. Where his eyes fell they turned from him, taking their positions, checking armor. Readying weapons.
Robec slammed his visor down and nodded to himself. This was fine. This was nothing. Huarn had given first watch on the frontline to Robec's 3rd Squad, even though they'd lost Mirek in the stampede. They'd been chosen because they were the best damn men the captain had. Even without Lieutenant Larouche. He never did much good anyway, poor bastard. Mirek, though, Robec wanted back. Good hands. Had his tongue cut out two years ago. Bloody good infantryman.
The undead were within twenty feet.
They would stand and meet the charge—slow as it was. Dead or alive, these things had limbs, and Robec knew half a dozen good ways to break a limb. Some of them he was proud of. Yes sir, Robec had no intention of getting dragged into a grave, kicking and screaming, in a Rune-forsaken land a thousand leagues from home. He'd always fashioned himself the type to die a captain of the guard serving some fat, whoring bastard of a Bishop—may the Bishops be eternal.
Ten feet. Then the dead legion was upon them. Robec wasn't quite sure what he bellowed when he rammed his sword into the scapula of a Harmonian solder fifty years dead.
-Hugo-
The wind howled past Hugo as the horse ran, whipping his hair and chilling his ears in a constant rush of air. Iron-shod hoofs clip-clopped down the gentle slope. Hugo reared up in the saddle to absorb the motion, but Lilly pressed up against him. Her body jostled with the horse's movements, and she chafed against his back. But she was soft. Thank the spirits it was not he who was behind: Lilly had tied her hat around her neck and let it hang on her back. That brown mane of hers danced like a streamer in the wind.
Hugo pulled up and cantered to a stop. He patted the horse's head. He'd ridden the mare hard, and she had worked up a lather, but Hugo knew her strength. That wasn't why he stopped. He glanced back.
The other horse came over the crest, carrying Yumi and Yun.
Hugo faced ahead and squinted into the night, looking for signs of fires. Nothing. Huarn was moving fast. And yet he was certain that the captain would have to make camp somewhere on the plains ahead if he aimed to cross the rolling hills.
When Yumi had almost caught up, Hugo nudged the mare into motion with his feet. He was surprised to find that the Kinese woman had been able to keep his pace. Almost, anyway. He'd had to make several little stops to "check the way." Still, it was impressive for a forest woman.
Hugo rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch out a tightness that sat much deeper than his limbs. He tried to still his breathing. What if he were too late? Spirits fend. No. It couldn't be. Huarn had to stop eventually, and Hugo would be there to act. It would be fine.
Once again there was that tiny voice inside that asked him 'why.' Why was he riding to that woman's rescue? Bylsma had asked the question. Yumi too. Lilly had voiced it in her own way, before the pace of the journey shut her up. Why? In Vinay, that had been just the question he'd wanted to ask her. Why Lulu? But there had been no real answer. And yet he'd accepted it; let the question lie. Now he struggled with another 'why;' the why of Chris. This time, he had to supply the answer himself. Another tiny voice had just such an answer. But that was a voice he wouldn't listen to.
He shook his head to clear the thoughts. He looked around, focused on the terrain as they rounded a copse of bloodwood. The trees was younger here; the oldest some fifty-odd years, but most far younger. Fire had burned the land to ashes at that fateful time when the War of the Fire Bringer had reached its cataclysmic conclusion. There were other signs, too. The land here in the Forbidden Ground was littered with barrows and cairns erected by the living. This is where an entire generation of Grasslanders and Ironheads lay entombed. Proof of the foolishness of such an alliance, or so he'd been taught to believe. Now he wondered. A True Rune had been at the heart of the conflict, and the same rune had brought about its fiery end.
Something had stirred, here. Hugo had kept his senses peeled for the beasts that stampeded through the Wind Seeker caravan—one, perhaps two hours ago—but he'd seen nothing. Less than nothing. It was as if the entire Forbidden Ground had been stripped of life. Something had startled them, and badly.
Hugo crested a hill and saw at last the pinpricks of light in the darkness; the Harmonian camp. He pulled up the mare and turned to wave Yumi in. Slipping out of the saddle, Hugo wandered up to the top of the hill and looked out over the dark plains. As he squinted, the lights of the distant flames shone like stars to his muddled eyes.
He scratched at his hand where the Fire Rune pulsed with an angry red glow. Though healed by Bylsma's Cyclone Rune, his arm still ached almost as fiercely as when he'd first unleashed the flames—stupid, thoughtless—and the irritation of the skin that he'd had even before had but tripled in intensity since. Lilly walked up behind him as he activated the rune. He could reach out with his senses, feeling the fire as if it were a part of him. He could—
Flames burst around his hand.
Hugo yelped. He sank to his knees and clutched at his wrist. The flame blazed, firing dancing arcs of fire in all directions. He tried to stop it, but the rune wouldn't cooperate. He beat his hand against the ground, gasping for air. He felt someone touching his shoulders, but hardly noticed.
Seconds passed in a haze of pain. A minute.
The fire guttered out. The rune still pulsed, but the magic was gone. Hugo drew breath in hitches, seeing the world through a scattering haze.
Hands touched his shoulders. Lilly looked down on him with a frown creasing her brow. "Hugo? Hugo?" She called his name with increasing alarm.
Hugo tried to nod but shook his head instead—or something in-between. He was still groggy. He glanced around, seeing Yumi approach while Yun held off. The younger girl's eyes were wide and her hand was outstretched as if struggling to find a means to help.
Hugo brushed Lilly's hands away and shot up. He made another effort to nod. "I'm fine."
"Something is amiss," Yumi said.
Hugo grimaced. "Fire magic doesn't seem to work too well here."
Yumi nodded slowly. She squatted down on her haunches, splayed out her hands and touched fingers to the ground, and closed her eyes. The sigil of an Earth Rune flared into life on the back of her hand. She was still and silent for several moments, while the light of the rune flickered, waxing and waning in intensity.
Lilly glanced at Hugo, seeking guidance. He shook his head and waited.
Yumi's eyes popped open, wide with alarm. The rune's light faded. "The ground has a heartbeat."
Lilly blinked. "What?" Her hand went to the hilt of her rapier, though what she expected to do with it, even she seemed unaware.
"Something's buried here. Or was buried. In the Forbidden Ground," Hugo said. He wafted his hand against the chill night air, trying to cool his skin. It didn't work. "Something we're better off leaving alone."
Yumi levered herself up on Hugo's arm, then feathered damp grass from her breeches. "There's something else, too. An uneasy feeling reached me… There's a force hidden deeper. An unruly brood; something that could be commanded by a strong enough will, if liberated. But that isn't what we need to worry about. The thing that's affecting Hugo's Fire Rune is already free." She gave Hugo a pointed look. "Do you think we can avoid it?"
"We'll have to." He would have to find the 'why' later. "As long as Borus isn't foolish enough to engage the Harmonians, we should be long gone before whatever is about to happen here happens. We'll leave the trespassers to deal with it."
-Borus-
Borus cursed the enemies of the Goddess as his horse nearly stumbled on another outcrop of rock. Gritting his teeth, he squinted at the formation to better see it, and guided the animal the long way around. Another minor setback among a thousand. Another delay. Borus had taken to a slow canter to adjust to the dim light of the moon and the impossible terrain. And yet it was not enough. Hillocks were everywhere, as were rock formations and small copses of trees so dark as to be almost invisible in the night's gloom. And every now and then he'd knock over a mound of moss-grown stones. Borus began to understand why even the barbarians shunned this place.
He had to admit, the Harmonians moved at a speed he had thought impossible for a company on a forced march through the dark hours of the night. And across this terrain! It had been all he could do to follow the trail they left in their wake, but at times he wondered if it wasn't intuition that guided his step. Divine providence; the blessing of the Goddess upon her humble servant sent to rescue the Silver Maiden from the servants of evil.
The horse stumbled, but quickly caught its balance.
Borus cursed again. Justice would be meted out on the barbarian in the end. On all of them. He'd spared the boy out of weakness—on the off-chance that he was telling the truth. But no, he had been a fool: he should have cut down the defiler then and there. For milady's sake.
He drew a deep breath, trying to shake the vile images that entered his head. None of that would come true. Not while he drew breath. Milady was with the Harmonians, now. They would be more like people than the barbarians. He could reason with them. They would hear a fellow knight out, and let her go once the misunderstanding had been cleared out. She would be safe. She would yet return to Vinay to lead the nation against the barbarians. And he would be at her side, asking for nothing in return but the right to fight and die in her name. His beautiful Goddess.
There came a rustle from the bushes ahead.
Borus snapped to attention. He slowed the horse to a trot. "Ho! Who goes there?"
There was no reply.
He pulled up. "I am Sir Borus Redrum of the Knights of the Zexen Confederacy."
More rustling followed. Moonlight glinted on weapons and chainmail as a squad of Harmonian soldiers, eleven in all, clambered from the buckthorn shrubs and from behind acacia trees. These would be vanguards, left to protect the main force from pursuers. People like Borus.
"Sir Borus of the knights, is it?" the corporal said. It was hard to see the man in the dark, but he looked to be a thin man with a dark beard showing underneath his conical helmet. "Why do you announce yourself?"
Borus straightened in the saddle and stretched out a gauntleted hand to salute the man. "There has been a mistake. I'm looking for the Silver Maiden."
The corporal made a series of gestures Borus could not interpret to his subordinates. Then he took a step forward and said, "A mistake, yes. On your part." He looked to his men, then made a cutting motion across his own throat.
Borus knew that gesture. His blood boiled to the surface. He drew his sword. It leapt from its sheath with a hiss, and he cut for the nearest man. The soldier went down with a scream and a severed arm.
All at once there were shouts and the clang of weapons. Borus wheeled his horse around and backed off, making space for maneuvering. Spears jabbed at where he'd been a moment past. The soldiers advanced.
"Listen to me—"
A Harmonian took to one knee, aiming a crossbow. The bolt sizzled past Borus' ear.
He snarled. Spurring the horse into a pass, Borus splayed out his fingers at the crossbowman and activated his Rage Rune. Blood pounded at his temples. He unleashed the magic.
Fire bloomed around his gauntlet. A burst of flame enveloped and heated the steel plates, searing his flesh through the leather beneath.
Borus howled. Shaking his fist in desperation, he guided the horse in a pirouette and into as fast a trot as he dared with uncertain ground.
Another bolt whizzed past.
-Serfein-
The man in the middle was not large, but he pulsed with the light of a hundred runes, all active. Dark figures flocked to the figure, shambling in from the shadows as if to bask in the glow of the runes.
Serfein observed the gathering from above, hidden among a stand of yellow-flowered barberry shrubs atop the crest of a hill. She remained silent, slow of breath, and still. Invisible to them.
She found it difficult to keep her breath under control. It was clear to her that the figure below was the True Fire Rune itself. It had manifested as an Incarnation, though for what reason, she could not imagine. This site had marked the end of the War of the Fire Bringer, and the beginning of a problematic treaty for Harmonia. Hundreds had died, if not thousands. Records were unclear. A generation had passed, and now the True Fire Rune stirred. Was it the nearby conflict between Bishop Sasarai's forces and the Grasslanders that had awakened the rune? It seemed a possible explanation. But whatever the reason, it was a problem for her. For Harmonia.
Bishop Sasarai wanted the True Fire Rune returned. Lord Hikusaak—may he be eternal—would have the True Runes. As was his right. But to return the True Rune to Harmonia, its Incarnation would first need to be unincarnated. Returned to its pliable, lethal form of limitless potential.
The crowd began to move below. First the Incarnation set out, and then the figures around it fell in step. No words were spoken that she could hear. No orders, or signals. And within moments, a force twice the size of the Company was on the march. On a collision course with Huarn.
When their path bent around the foot of the hill, the light of the Incarnation's runes flickered across the face of one figure.
Serfein nearly gasped. Her lungs deflated. The man marching there was dead. A skeleton dressed in the ragged, dirt-encrusted garments of soldier having clawed his way from an old grave. And as the crowd passed by her, she saw that they all were.
The buried soldiers of a dead conflict.
-Hugo-
The bolt caught the Harmonian soldier by surprise. It buried itself in the man's neck with a wet thwack. He grunted, and fell over dead. Two of them turned, shouting a warning even as Yumi loaded another quarrel.
Then Hugo was upon them. He'd nudged the horse into a gallop and shifted his legs to one side. When the mare made its pass, he flung himself down. The soldier had just enough time to look surprised as Hugo slammed, dagger first, into his side. They rolled to the ground in a frantic tangle of arms and blades. Hugo felt his blade cut flesh. He wrestled to keep the man down; elbowed him in the head several times. A strong hand gripped his throat. Then went limp.
Hugo regained his feet, but nearly stumbled on the splayed limbs of the dead soldier. He looked up to see another Harmonian charging him down.
The soldier brought up his sword, and lashed out for his shoulder. Hugo raised his dagger, and the weapons clashed with a shriek of metal.
Hugo grunted, pushed blade against blade to keep the steel from cutting into his flesh. He could see the man's teeth glint in the moonlight. They were bared in a snarl. He pushed down on his sword with quivering arms, as if he couldn't believe that Hugo was able to withstand the press.
Thwack. A bolt bit into the man's exposed armpit. He howled.
Hugo wasted no time admiring the shot. He stepped back, releasing the pressure upon the sword. The soldier stumbled forward, still dazed by the pain. Hugo stepped in, grabbed the man's shoulder, and buried his dagger in his throat. There was a muffled groan. Hugo twisted the dagger, and the man fell silent, slumped into his arms. He shoved him aside.
It had happened in seconds. Beside him, Lilly yelped, clutched frantically for the reins, and shifted forward. She pulled out her rapier, meeting the charge of another soldier. The battle was a dance of shadows beneath the moon. Hugo could see the profile of Borus upon his charger fifty paces away, engaging six more of the Harmonians. The knight's sword rose and fell as he fended off his attackers. He retreated, ducking and weaving to dodge crossbow bolts flitting through the night air.
Hugo uttered a curse he hoped his mother never found out about. He ran towards the fight. The ground was a blur of grass, stones, and dirt beneath his feet as he closed the distance. A soldier noticed him when he was halfway there. The man dropped to a knee and aimed his crossbow.
Hugo hit the ground in a roll. The bolt whizzed past his head. He shot back up. The soldier reloaded in a hurry, and took aim.
Yumi's bolt hit the man in the shoulder. Hugo didn't hear it, but he saw the man stagger back. The crossbow misfired, sinking a quarrel into the trunk of a nearby tree. The soldier dropped the weapon and pulled out a dagger as he loped off into cover.
Hugo ignored him. He went straight for the man with the sword raised over his head and shouting orders. He was facing Borus, and was wide open.
Hugo slammed into the man's back and knocked him forward. The corporal twisted his head and flailed his sword back. Hugo swatted his arm aside and pinned it. He leaned forward and jacked his dagger into the back of the man's neck. It cut through flesh with a sickening noise and came away bloody. The Harmonian remained on the ground, unmoving.
There were shouts, now. The remaining soldiers had noticed him. The wounded crossbowman shouted desperately from his cover. The other man with a crossbow circled around to get a better aim.
Borus descended upon the soldiers like a whirlwind. His war-trained horse thundered into their midst, knocking a man down and staggering another. They crowded around him, stabbing and slashing. Borus wove around the attacks with the grace of a hawk in flight. His sword fell, cutting one man's throat. Twisting in his saddle, he shifted the sword to his other hand and slashed again. There was a clang as the weapon was blocked. Then Borus pulled back, feinted, and cut the man's head off.
The survivors broke.
Borus made to follow the fleeing soldiers, but abandoned the chase when the last man slipped in through the bushes. He wheeled his horse around on the spot, spitting and snarling and cursing whatever the Ironheads cursed.
Lilly reined in beside Hugo, rapier still in her hand. Blood dripped from the blade. Even in the dark, the look of distaste was evident upon her face. She frowned, staring at the weapon.
"This is bad. I'm supposed to be a diplomat. I think this may have inadvertently constituted an act of war against Harmonia." She sought Hugo's eyes.
He wiped the blood from his dagger. "It was self-defense."
Borus walked his horse towards them. Three soldiers were slumped in his wake, like fallen logs obscured by the shadows on the forest floor.
"That was uncalled for," the knight said. "I could have turned them around."
"I'm sure," Hugo said. He sheathed the dagger. "Are you ready to cooperate, now?"
Borus stared at him. There, again, was that gleam of gritted, snarling teeth.
"Sir Borus," Lilly said, sheathing her weapon after meticulously wiping the blood away. She grimaced. "Hugo means no harm. We would appreciate your help in rescuing Lady Chris. After all, that is why we are here, isn't it? Would you turn down our help?"
Borus glowered at her. Lilly did not flinch. The knight turned his eyes on Hugo, mouth twitching at the corners.
"You fight like an ape."
Hugo shrugged, squatting down to rest his legs. "So sorry to interrupt your negotiations."
Borus thrust his sword back into the sheath. "Don't let it happen again."
-Borus-
Borus followed at a trot in the wake of the barbarians—and the misplaced foreigner, who fidgeted in the saddle behind the boy. If Borus didn't know better, he'd think she was smoothing the wrinkles out of her clothes.
Their pace was leisurely enough; measured but even, so that they would catch the Harmonians soon enough but were in no real danger of wounding their animals in the chase. It was a slower pace than he'd preferred. But it gave him time to think.
A numbing sense of indignation now warred with the tightness of his jaw and fists. The barbarian had gotten there before him. Made a fool out of him. No matter that the barbarian no doubt had taken some hidden path known only to the cowardly creatures; some sapper's tunnel meant to one day be used by barbarian raiders to ambush Zexen citizens and drive cruel blades into their bodies. To loot and pillage, and worse. Even so, the boy's ability to navigate the heavy terrain by the light of the moon was impressive. Like a ship being guided through the reefs by the stars—or so Borus had understood it—the barbarian was leading them deeper into the Forbidden Ground, towards where milady would be. Or towards a trap. Borus had to remember that.
He nudged his charger around a rock outcropping, guiding the animal's hoofs along the trail of the boy's own horse. A valley was spreading out before them, if his eyes did not deceive him.
He wondered at the boy's motives. If he'd wanted Borus dead, he would not have entered combat with the Harmonians. If he'd wanted milady dead, he would not allow Borus to live. He had to know that Borus would gut him like a pig if any harm had come to milady. He had to know that. And yet the boy had made an effort to help fight the Harmonians. Borus had to admit that. But it could be a ruse. The boy would no doubt relish the opportunity to drive a dagger into his back, but he would not do so yet. No; the boy clearly meant to see him dead, but he would not allow it until milady was safe in their hands—a task only Borus could accomplish, as the boy well knew. Why else would he want to "cooperate"? For what dastardly purpose? Borus could but imagine what the barbarian wanted milady alive for.
Hugo reined in before an escarpment, twisted in his saddle, and leaned over the strange girl's shoulder.
"See the campfires being extinguished, torches being lit. They're on the move. But we're close. It won't be long now."
Borus trotted up beside them. He looked at the valley floor spreading out before them, and saw myriad torches being sparked in the night, arranging themselves in orderly lines and rows even as the camp was dismantled. It was too dark to see any details, but something about the camp spoke to Borus about a recent attack. But who could they have fought here? Perhaps his hunch was wrong.
He looked at the boy; tried to read his shadowed face. There was nothing there to betray his thoughts. Nothing there to speak of brittle nerves. He could not know that Borus had seen through his schemes.
Borus nodded. "No," he said. "It won't be long."
-?-
Seeing the grisly remains of Lieutenant Larouche had opened Lieutenant Varklav's mind to the many subtleties of life. The little ironies. Eyewitness reports held that Larouche, an animal lover, had been knocked to the ground by a boar of prodigious size, was then trampled by several dogs as he struggled to get up, and finally, for good measure, had his ribs snapped by the hoofs of a wild horse. It had to be a horse, too. The Company's own animals had been well fed and groomed under Larouche's watchful eye. Varklav wondered if the lieutenant hadn't died of a broken heart, even as the blood filled his punctured lungs.
Unlike Larouche, Lieutenant Varklav held animals and humans in equal contempt. He would begrudge neither one the opportunity to kill him when his final day rolled around.
But these things…
Varklav turned his sword over in his hand. The moonlight caught the blade and made it gleam. Broken bone and chain links littered the ground around his feet. And yet the blade was as clean as it had been this morning. Not a single drop of blood clung to the fuller. These things were dead as timber. And it chilled him to the bone.
They had survived the first wave. All around him soldiers ran between tents, snatching guy ropes and folding the canvas while weapons were collected and the stores packed onto the spooked horses. No less than an entire squad of eleven had been assigned to calm the beasts. They had been taken by surprise. But they now knew what they were fighting, and the skirmish had proven that the dead things could be broken.
Some squads had fared poorly. Varklav had seen at least three men with dead eyes staring up at the night sky. There was little time to bury them now. They had to be left behind. Conversely, Corporal Robec had, miraculously as his squad were the first to face the dead, come through the ordeal unscathed. How, Varklav could not explain. The man was wild-eyed, like a berserk from the Nameless Lands. He was a man in need of a good lieutenant.
Varklav sheathed his sword, and started towards the 3rd Squad corporal.
"Lieutenant!" Huarn called.
Varklav spun around. Huarn foisted the Silver Maiden before him, and the woman hunched forward and stumbled towards Varklav. She caught her balance, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. She glared at him.
"Keep an eye on her," Huarn said. "Don't let her out of your sight."
Varklav saluted. "Yes, sir."
The captain was already stalking towards Robec's squad. He swiveled and started backing away as he added, "We're moving deeper. We'll rendezvous with Serfein as soon as possible."
When the captain had gone, Varklav was left staring into the defiant glare that lit the Silver Maiden's eyes. He sighed.
"I am useless to you like this," she said. She leaned to show her bound hands. "Cut these bonds. Give me a sword. I will do you much more good."
Varklav motioned for the soldiers of the 5th Squad—somewhat down on man-power, now, and down a corporal—to take up a guarding position around the Silver Maiden. Then he shook his head.
"You'll remain a prisoner." Huarn would never allow it. And Varklav had seen the Silver Maiden fight. She was either supremely disciplined to hold back so in the duel against the captain, or she was a rotten fighter. And Varklav had never known a woman to have such discipline.
The Silver Maiden's lips twisted into a thin line of disapproval. She said no more. Around them, the camp had been swiftly and efficiently dismantled and loaded onto the pack animals. From ahead, the call for advance was given by Captain Huarn, and a horn sounded nearby. The 5th Squad started ahead, pushing the Silver Maiden between them until she showed that she was content to walk without complaint.
Varklav, last remaining lieutenant of the 282nd West Company, trailed in their wake.
-Serfein-
Serfein hurtled down the ranks of the soldiers. Voices rose in alarm, and the advance squads rippled to make place for her. She saw nicked weapons, damaged armor. Wounded. So they had encountered the dead.
She let the magic of the Godspeed Rune fade, and slowed to walk beside Huarn's horse. The captain's head whipped around to face her.
"We were attacked," he said.
"I know."
"Did you find it?"
Sweat cooled on Serfein's brow. She nodded, drew a deep breath. "It's near. But it won't be so easy."
"What?"
Serfein stretched out her neck, adjusting the cowl on her cloak to reveal her singed hair. "It's manifested. An Incarnation. It's small... man-sized. But this one is a spirit of war."
Huarn flinched. His grip on the reins tightened, and he snarled. It took a moment and a slow exhalation of air to calm him. "Alright. We can deal with this. But we'd best slow it down. Call on Bishop Sasarai's aid."
Serfein tightened her mouth, then said, "We may not have time to get the Bishop. His forces are marching on Chisha even as we speak."
Huarn shook his head. "They will not need his power."
Serfein paused, frowning at her feet as she stalked alongside the horse. Huarn had not slowed, which suited her fine. They had to move forward.
Huarn must have seen something in her mien. "There's something else," he suggested.
Serfein started, then nodded. "Something lies buried deeper. Something that needs coaxing."
Huarn frowned. "Not a True Rune. Does it pose a threat to us?"
Serfein hesitated. The sensation had been distant; a chthonic voice reaching up through earth and stone. There had been no desperation in that whisper. Simply a sense of… contentment. A patient deliberation, awaiting its release.
"It won't emerge unbidden."
"Then it is not our concern."
A soldier appeared behind them. He looked out of breath, and tousled as if he'd been in a scrap. Even compared to the soldiers marching around them, he looked beat-up.
The man slowed his step and saluted. "Sir!" he said, then gasped for breath.
Huarn raised an eyebrow. "You are Dorma, of the 6th Squad. You were assigned as rear guard." He twisted in his saddle. "Where is Corporal Tanak?"
Dorma's breaths came in rough wheezes. "Dead, sir. Only two of us survived, and Ceneun is being tended to by the surgeon."
"Did you encounter the dead?"
Dorma's eyes widened. "No, sir. I heard…" He shook his head; banished the thought. "We were attacked by a knight of Zexen. Borus something, sir. And he had allies; Grasslanders who caught us from behind."
Serfein rounded on the man. "Grasslanders?"
Dorma flinched, and faltered a step. He glanced at Huarn, but the captain was staring at him, waiting for him to respond. He nodded. "Yes, Mistress Serfein."
"Could they have been the same Grasslanders who were with the Silver Maiden in the caravan?"
Dorma blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yes, Mistress Serfein. I believe they might have been."
Serfein shot a sharp glance at Huarn. "This is a problem."
Huarn looked pale. "That settles our argument. There's no time to fetch Bishop Sasarai. We'll have to deal with it ourselves." The captain drew a deep breath, and seemed to steel himself.
Serfein picked through her pockets and holsters inside the cloak, checking her weapons. Confident that everything was in order, she nodded.
"I will deal with the interlopers."
Huarn's jaw tightened. He nodded.
Serfein jogged through the throng. She activated the Godspeed Rune and set off at a dash, with leaps and bounds. The soldiers cleared a path and pointedly ignored her as she passed.
-The Vessel-
The dead were silent as they trudged on across the grassy plains, forming up in a macabre cadre around the Vessel. Bone creaked, and armor rustled. Now and then, weapons clacked against bone or iron as two dead warriors stumbled too close to each other. Neither reacted.
As they passed more cairns, their ranks swelled. Skeletal figures clawed through the earth, or burst from piles of toppling rock. Hundreds now staggered through the night, like migrating wildebeest. Grasslanders marched in step with Zexonians. Neither cared about the presence of Harmonians at their sides. And among the Harmonians, there was none of the typical squabble about nationality and class. It was a beautiful symmetry. And despite the silence of the assembled warriors, there was a certain cadence to their step; a breath of something better than lungfuls of fleeting air. Fire filled these disinterred spirits, and breathed fury into their bones.
That fury would serve them well. The Vessel sensed that the advance troops he had sent ahead had been beaten down by an unknown enemy. And then there was the woman who had observed him from afar not long ago. Without a doubt she was a member of the hated Guild. This had the stink of Harmonia about it. He would have to teach them a lesson. The Vessel drew upon the magic at his core, and shifted shape.
His skin hardened, and took on the texture of scales. He grew in bursts.
Dead soldiers were knocked down around him, and bowled into others. Stumbles rippled out among his faithful with a clatter like that of a handful of stones dropped atop each other. The dead steadied themselves, and stepped aside, giving him a wider berth. And there he rose, changed: a monster wreathed in scales and flames. From his body, a lurid glare cast light out to a radius of hundreds of yards. Like a furious sun descending upon the earth to avenge himself upon the living. And so the Harmonians would regret disturbing him.
For this, his newfound shape pleased him.
-Serfein-
Knight Class Gunner Serfein settled down against the edge of an escarpment overgrown with holly. A valley spread out below, dotted with sparse bloodwood and barberry swaying in the cool night breeze. Sweat glued Serfein's hair to her cowl. Crystal Valley seemed a world away. Even the evenings were balmy as far as she was concerned. Mosquitoes buzzed inside her cowl. She could not wait to get out of this rune-forsaken place.
She pulled out her rifle. Five heartbeats passed while she drew back the frizzen, pulled out a cartridge, loaded the bullet and gunpowder, and then primed the weapon. She worked by feel, barely aware of the process as she focused her mind on the valley that spread out below the precipice.
Figures moved below. They were mere shadows creeping between bloodwood and acacia, and stepping around shrubs, but Serfein's eyes had been attuned to the night, and she could see well enough. Five people; three women and two men, divided between three horses. The details were unimportant. In the vanguard was the Grasslander who had masqueraded as the Silver Maiden's husband. He led the others with surprising speed. Another person might have assumed that his vision was unhindered by the overcast night, but Serfein knew the difference between a man who could see in the dark and a man who relied on familiarity with his environs.
She raised the rifle and propped it up on the edge of the precipice, then pulled the handle back to where her hand brushed against her cheek. She would shoot the boy first. Within a hundred heartbeats they would pass within range of her rifle. She waited, tracking the boy with the barrel of the gun. The buzz of mosquitoes. The chirping of mantises. The sound of her own steady breath. A branch snapped beneath the hoofs of their horses. Then they were within range.
Serfein squeezed the trigger.
-Author's Notes-
It took longer than I'd thought to plan this story arc. I've got the next two chapters pretty much done, so they'll be forthcoming within a matter of weeks.
As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. Both the good and the bad.
Now that the Pittsburgh Penguins are coached by Dan Bylsma, I feel almost prescient with the naming of the character in my fanfic. No relation there, honest, though I wish I could take credit. :)