Chapter I
Acquaintances
Rain drove into the soaked wooden palisades with erratic gusts of wind, unbothering the grim hooded figures dotted around the makeshift fortification. They, along with these soaked wooden walls, were the final barrier between the safe warmth of a cooking fire and the searing heat of a burial pyre, and this awareness weighed on them heavily at all times. A pair of these ever- vigilant sentries guarded the main entrance to the encampment, the heavy door raised for faster traffic. Large point-sharpened logs, nailed and tied together with thick ropes, the same kind that held it suspended in the makeshift mechanism of pulleys, would drop down if danger arose to block access to any assailants. Such a thing would also mean that the demons have managed to wrestle the hold of Blood Moor from the Rogues, and would be indicative of a desperate situation indeed.
But there was no such danger at the present yet, and those sheltered within the relative safety of the walls of the encampment could sleep under the blanket of false calm. The two door sentries watched with keen gaze an approaching pair through a curtain of rain, as they have been for a while now. There was little cover on the open plain spreading outwards from the Rogue camp, and these new arrivals made little effort to conceal their presence. Groups of Rogues patrolled the Blood Moor, with several smaller war camps settled in critical spots around the grassy plain. Little if no demonic minions made their way this deep in, even if their attacks had intensified lately. Most were held off by the main guard forces on the edge of Cold Plains, and those that managed to break through the lines were picked off by the Rogue patrols continuously sweeping the Blood Moor.
Regardless, the sentries were cautious. Assuming things was the fastest way to a grave in these times, as the Rogues have learned the hard way. The two were close enough now to be discernible to the eye, enough even to be only a quick sprint away. They halted a few long steps away from the Rogue guards, not least in respect of pointedly armed bows.
One of the sentries gasped, immediately drawing an arrow.
"It's a nefarious Necromancer!"
"Wait!" the other one made a halting gesture with her hand. "An Amazon. If they were bearing ill intent they would not have made it through the outer perimeter. Regardless of the Necromancer," she added uncertainly.
The first one turned to her companion incredulously, eye sparkling under the hood.
"We were supposed to be protecting this camp from the forces of darkness, not letting them in in our midst!"
"She is our sister, a traveller in need and most of all someone who fights on our side!" the other one protested.
The first Rogue was not so easily convinced, eyeing the cloaked pair again with suspicion.
"For all we know she could be under the vile one's influence! She could be undead!"
"She looks very much alive to me."
Eva raised a halting hand irately.
"Do you not recognize us? We are two of the those who came here to fight the devils. Our tent is over there."
She pointed in general direction of the small amassment of tents in the northern area of the large camp. The two Rogues followed her gloved finger, then exchanged mutually confused looks. Without waiting for a reply, Eva stepped boldly into the inner walls past the uncertain pair, the Necromancer taking special care to rudely bump into one of them with his shoulder.
Many fires burned around the encampment, cooking fires in front of individual tents as well as those simply for light and warmth as twilight already hung heavily over the land. The rain persisted, making along with low-hung mist the moors look even more colourless and bleak as they normally were. The Necromancer curled his lips in quiet distaste as they marched on through mud.
"I am surprised this encampment is still standing, with such brilliant minds at post."
Eva made an indelicate sound, not even turning to him as she frowned. Up ahead, a large bonfire was being set up for the night, with Rogues and various other people skittering about busily. She noted that many of these foreigners wore long, flowing robes and tunics so characteristic of the Eastern peoples – most likely merchants and drivers from a passing caravan. Others were yet more rag-tag, sporting various types of armour and clothing, but almost uniformly everything about these screamed 'seasoned warrior'.
No doubt, many local farmers as well as lesser nobles, if one was to judge by expensive attires, came to Rogues' aid as the demonic threat appeared. Rightly so, for the wellbeing of this entire region depended heavily on the Order, both for their commercial and military services, as well as for the strategic location of the ancient monastery the Order was situated in. Eva turned toward the main tent dominating the Rogue encampment, sprawling behind the cattle pens and always bustling with activity.
The large central tent was made as a dining area of sorts, also doubling as commons for the weary adventurers; the sisters of the Order mostly lingered in their own, separate tents. Oil lamps and impromptu candlesticks illuminated the smoky interior, smudging the atmosphere into a haze of warm familiarity. The long, rectangular tent was currently bristling with activity, groups of mercenaries and local farmers huddling together around cheap ale, while the obviously more aristocratic individuals yet kept to themselves. They observed their rowdy, uninhibited inferiors with obvious contempt over their cups of wine and kept sending degrading looks all around.
Immediately a wave of hushed murmur passed the crowd as they entered, those that didn't recognise the Necromancer by his vestments alerted to him by the rumour preceding him. All eyes followed them as they made their way amidst the tables, reflecting various negative emotions in varying degrees. Peasants stepped out of their way hastily, while more noble warriors retreated with careful nonchalance in such a way as not to appear cowardly.
Eva held no illusions as to the fear and wonder; competent and fearsome warriors were a common sight in the Rogue encampment, esoteric adepts of magic which was, to a peasant's mind, indistinguishable to that wielded by the demons outside were not. She cared little for such attention, as well. All she cared for now was something warm and respite from the edge of endless battle. There were some things which could wear down even the most eager warrior, strike despair and resignation even into the most courageous heart.
They paused, sweeping the tent with challenging eyes. Things gradually returned to previous levels of careless alcoholic stagnation; living nextdoor to demonic marauders tends to dull one's sense of awe.
A burst of laughter broke out somewhere among the long benches in the back, but it was a thin veneer of laughter that covered the deep razed marks of this sinister war. It was a war like no other, far too terrible to be surpassed by mere works of men, and to just as easily fade to ink of yellowed parchment. A war to end all wars, not a cleansing but corruption, dreadful and ominous, and all the while directing the material plane into an irreversible collision with Hell. The rush of continuous nightmare could age a man well before his time, if he survived the physical danger at all.
Eva couldn't help but notice how worn out and bleak the men and women they walked amongst truly were.
She lead the way towards the back, a short table holding a single occupant. The man was apparently a barbarian, if one was to judge by his scarce armour and characteristically large physique. He was nursing a metal tankard of mead, his scowl gradually deepening with the pair's approach. His long dark red hair fell over his face in greasy strands as he peered up at them with a grim, hostile face. They stopped in front of his table, with Eva indicating the empty bench inquiringly.
"Are the seats taken?"
The barbarian ignored her, his wild eyes intently fixed on the Necromancer instead.
"Keep your distance, witchman," he warned menacingly.
"Peace," Eva calmed, catching his gaze. "No need for that kind of talk. Surely we can put aside our differences as so many others have?"
She seated herself on the bench opposite of him, Necromancer taking a place beside her nonchalantly. The barbarian seemed uncertain, his red brows furrowing in discontent. Some of the people at nearby tables watched them with hungry interest.
"My name is Eva," she supplied curtly, with firm intent to bridge hostilities.
The man kept his eyes on her, occasionally flickering them to the Necromancer.
"I am Borrn," he offered reluctantly. "Of Clan Black Bear. I have come from the North to battle the encroaching darkness here, and gain honour and glory."
He turned a pointed look on the Eva's dark companion, expectantly. There was a brief pause as the Necromancer studied him disdainfully.
"My name is none of your concern."
Borrn scowled darkly at this, his tone growing colder.
"Shall I just call you 'Necromancer', then?"
He shrugged slowly.
"You may address me as Priest, for I am a Priest of Rathma."
Borrn's expression remained suspicious as he sneered at him. Priest stared back at him stoically, meeting his eyes with a sort of bored look.
"I just call him 'warlock'," Eva broke the tension again with pointed informality, then continued matter-of-factly. "Have you had much success in battling the demons?"
Borrn made a sour face as he looked back at her, then threw a dark glance across the tent as he spoke.
"I'm not part of any larger organized group, and I would not be any better for it if I was. The last adventurer group that went for Stony Field returned decimated, and those that lived were never same again."
He said the words as if with some disapproval, but Eva couldn't quite discern the cause.
"Only the Rogues can patrol the moor without getting slaughtered," he continued with a desolate tone. "But even that has changed lately, for the worse."
Eva crossed her arms and stretched her legs under the table.
"Why do you say that?"
"The Rogues are suspicious of strangers," he said simply. "They won't talk about things, things that should be known to folk."
"What things?"
Borrn looked at Priest pointedly, as if reluctant to discuss matters in his presence.
"You may speak freely!"
Eva began impatiently, but she paused as Priest whispered something in her ear, then rose with a clank of metal and swish of dark cloth. Borrn followed him with his eyes for a moment as he wound his way through the crowd, then turned back to Eva. He studied her guardedly for a long while, to her apparent indifference.
"The Rogues are losing more ground each day," he said gravely, frowning into his mead. "I've heard talk of amassment of demonic forces not far from this camp, from where they are launching these nightly attacks."
Eva scowled in thought, leaning forward to be heard over the din of drunken singing.
"Where have you heard that?"
Borrn shrugged, throwing back his tankard.
"Here and there. I've talked to a pair of Rogue advance scouts, and they said every patrol that is sent out returns with heavy losses," he paused to raise his eyebrows and lower his voice dramatically. "If it returns at all."
Eva leaned back to regard him critically. It was true that the encampment has been pressed hard recently, with progressively larger and better organized groups of demons besieging the Rogues. Moments of respite such as this were becoming scarce and far in between.
The sound of a wine pitcher breaking somewhere in the far corner of the tent brought her from her thoughts. She glanced up, Borrn was still watching her with that look, a mixture of wariness and curiosity.
"You are a long way from your home, Amazon," he started gravely. "Maybe you came all this way just to die."
Eva lashed him with a quickly narrowed look.
"I could say the same thing for you, warrior."
Borrn grunted with dark amusement, clenching his mug tightly in one large hand.
"I'm not afraid to die. If I die here it means I will die like a warrior, and I will be honoured in the great halls of the Ancestors. That is all a Clansman could ever ask for."
Despite the resolve in his words Eva also thought she sensed a hint of sorrow, a bitter resignation to one's fate. She let the silence hang for a moment. Behind them, a small group of local men-at-arms stomped by, chattering excitedly amongst themselves about killing demons.
"That is a bleak outlook for someone claiming to seek glory," Eva commented casually.
Borrn watched her with clear annoyance.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he dismissed blandly.
Eva considered something for a long time, then looked at him resolutely.
"Maybe we could work together against this evil? Two blades are better than one after all, and three better than two."
Borrn snorted in amused disbelief, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"There are plenty of other skilled warriors in this camp, why would I join up with you?" he paused for a moment, his tone hardening. "I might consider it if it was just you, Amazon, but I won't have anything to do with...him. It's bad luck to deal with a witchman."
Eva's expression fell in some suppressed indignation.
"If that's what you want, so be it," she said coldly, standing. "But you might change your mind sooner than you think. May Athulua have mercy on your stubborn soul."
Borrn stared after her irritably for a moment, then rose to go pour himself another pitcher of mead from a barrel.
O O O
Gheed observed the commotion around him with a surly eye, muttering unpleasantries to himself. The camp was busy with Rogues on their errands, and fools trying to find a new, inventive ways of getting themselves killed. Because going outside the limits of this encampment was exactly that, he mused darkly as he rearranged some jewellery on display.
From the corner of his eye he noticed a tall man approaching and quickly dusted off his faded fur coat and put on his most charming smile. He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture as he ascertained that the man was indeed moving toward his wagon.
"Good day to you, partner! I'm Gheed, the purveyor of finest goods and weaponry in this forsaken camp. If you're looking for the best of the best for as cheap as possible you've come to the right place!"
The man stopped before him, appraising him quickly with sharp green eyes. His ginger hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and had a greyed streak running through it.
"I need some amulets," he said with strange awkward terseness, as if one unused to speaking more than necessary.
Gheed licked his lips slowly, trying to get a feel for his newest customer. Outwardly, he maintained his demeanor of false joviality.
"Amulets, you say? Well, I have lots of amulets! Just take your pick, but make sure you have the correct amount of gold before touching anything. Even magic tends to wear off if too many people fondle the item, you know."
That was completely fabricated, of course, but Gheed didn't like people who couldn't afford to buy things wasting his time. The man readjusted the large wolfskin he wore as a cape over his shoulders to reach into the pack hanging from his side.
Gheed watched intently as he pulled out a lump of gold roughly the size of his fist.
"Will this do?"
Gheed had to support himself on the wagon frame for a moment, doing his best to maintain his carefully constructed expression. He nodded furiously, swallowing thickly as he marvelled at the raw nugget. He cleared his throat forcefully, forcing his eyes back up at the Druid's face for a tiny moment while trying to appear as casual as possible.
"And where have you found such a...thing, if I may ask?"
"Nature rewards its servants bountifully," the man said simply. "This came from the mountains of the North, straight from the earth's nourishing bosom."
"Indeed," Gheed croaked, unable to take his eyes off the lump of gold.
The man let his hand drop back to his side, glancing over the wares on display.
"So what will it get me?"
Gheed quickly snapped into motion, indicating his equipment with a sweep of the hand.
"Oh, you can buy much for such a little treasure. Of course," he sniffed calculatively, his mind working feverishly with figures. "It's unprocessed and unstamped, so its worth would be diminished when compared to equal weight in coin."
The man regarded him in eerie silence for a moment.
"Do not try to swindle me. I am not a fool."
Gheed affected a hurt expression, resting one hand over wounded heart.
"I would never do such a thing, it's preposterous to even suggest it! Coin loses its value a little more every day with this war, and raw gold even more so," he quickly shifted into a conspiratorial mode, lowering his voice and all. "But tell you what; since I want only the best for my customers, and I understand these are difficult times, I'll let you choose any three enchanted pendants you want in exchange for that cumbersome rock."
The man's face remained stony as he glanced at the stand behind Gheed.
"Three pendants and one ring," he bartered.
Gheed gasped with fake indignation.
"Are you crazy? That's stealing from right under my nose! Daylight robbery!"
"There are other traders here in the camp," the man pointed out simply, but effectively.
Gheed held out a halting hand in most dramatic manner.
"There may be other traders, but none of them holds the kind of stock I have. Quality is guaranteed! I sell nothing but premium items! I tell you, friend, I have not yet had a dissatisfied customer," he averred, omitting the fact that life expectancy of his customers was even lower than his warranty.
"Three pendants and a ring," the Druid repeated, unrelenting.
Gheed gave a long sigh of frustration, hanging his head.
"Alright!" he threw his hand up in defeat. "You can have your damn ring as well! I must be out of my mind to sell such unique and incredibly powerful items at such a rate."
He held out one hand, nodding back to the jewellery stand behind him meaningfully. The man deposited his gold in the waiting hand and stepped past Gheed with a wary glance. Gheed turned the nugget in his hands gleefully, all the while watching from the corner of his eye how the Druid gathered the enchanted items reluctantly, as if he was harbouring some deep-seated distrust of them.
"Mind you," he added off-handedly. "The exact functions of these arcane artefacts is unknown, they would need to be identified by a powerful sage or a mage to discover their function. Such great knowledge simply can't be available to just any common peasant."
The man paused in lacing his bag, scowling at him.
"Or," Gheed smiled lucratively, pocketing the nugget somewhere under his coat. "You could just use the magical identification scrolls, which I also sell at a very cheap price."
Somewhere in the dark distance, thunder rumbled lazily.
O O O
It started raining again. Eva groaned, pulling her cape around her irately as she quickened her step. Even through the wool and leather she could feel the coolness of the raindrops, permeating to the very bone it seemed. Or perhaps it came from within, this chill, constricting and numbing. Crystallizing all thoughts into the same morass she trod through.
She found the warlock conversing something with that easterner Warriv. The man spoke in crisp, clear tones that were readily audible even over the constant background noise of the camp. So contrasting to the normally subdued phrasings of her companion, whose only indication that he was speaking were an occasional gesture or Warriv's attentive focus.
She stopped a little distance away, waiting for the conversation to finish then nodding inquisitively at him. Priest acknowledged, coming over in few long strides.
"There is someone you should meet. The leader of these estranged Rogues."
Eva's brows knit in perplexion.
"I have already spoken to Kashya."
Priest guided her along as they talked, toward the small concentration of tents in the south-eastern part of the camp, more heavily guarded by vigilant archers and solemn Rogues.
"She is just a war commander; I speak of their true leader, the High Priestess."
Eva spared him a curious sideways glance as they made their way through mud and scattering chickens, past wagons and scrutinizing eyes of the local peasants taking shelter in the camp.
Priest looked at the two Rogues in mail armour standing a bit to the side of the nondescript tent pointedly, and they seemingly made no reply. Only their eyes spoke, of some vague disgust and annoyed toleration, but most importantly of acknowledgement.
He ushered Eva into the tent and followed behind.
Immediately she was engulfed in the soft light of the interior, a certain exotic scent, unfamiliar yet deeply nostalgic, permeating the air. A solitary oil lamp cast soft, flickering shadows over every item and face, giving them a subtly eerie impression. Herbs hung low from the makeshift wooden stands, ancient-looking shelves holding strangely coloured concoctions and powders in myriad of flasks and jars.
The most striking thing, however, was a figure standing amidst the clutter and trunks; an aged woman clad in cloak of vibrant purple, radiating grace and serenity.
Priest presented Eva with a simple look, as if it contained many more words spoken recently.
"This is Eva."
After this, he stood back to seemingly blend with the shadows flickering through the corners of the tent, like a statue. The woman now focused her attention solely on her, keen eyes set in elegantly aged face. Eva stared back, uncertain. Purple robes made a faint rustling sound as she moved closer, never moving her studious eyes from Eva's face.
When she spoke it was in warm, yet subtly wary tone, her words edged by some noble dignity and that knowing confidence common to all magical adepts.
"Greetings, Amazon. I do not believe we have been introduced yet. I am Akara, High Priestess of the Order of the Sightless Eye."
Eva nodded stiffly, meeting her eyes.
"I am Eva, as you know," she hesitated momentarily, not really knowing what to say. "I have come a long way to aid in destruction of this threat."
Akara smiled benevolently, but it was more a gesture of politeness than true kindness.
"I am glad that you have come here, in a way," she stepped toward a shelf filled with multicoloured vials, glancing over the glassware distantly. "In my opinion, the world needs more women to fight against the great shadow."
Eva followed Akara with her eyes, unable to keep the tension completely from her voice. She seated herself with stately elegance, unable to fully conceal her weariness.
"We can offer you but a poor shelter within these rickety walls, I am afraid. The demons gain ground with each passing day, and our own ranks diminish."
Her eyes grew distant as she spoke, absently touching the emerald necklace on her bosom.
"No matter," Eva kept her tone businesslike. "We have not come here for shelter. We have come to cleanse the land and restore Order."
Akara nodded slowly, making a knowing sound.
"Many have – and many died. I wish you to be more fortunate than those that came before you," she cast a brief glance at the shadowed Necromancer.
Eva suppressed the distant feeling of unease this whole situation instilled in her. She already opened her mouth when Akara spoke again, her words slow and carefully measured.
"There is something you should know, Eva. We are not doing nearly as well in our battle than it may seem on the first glance. In fact, it seems like the scales are starting to weigh out of our favour."
Eva scowled at this, mildly alarmed.
"What do you mean?"
Akara gave a long, pensive exhale as she studied her carefully.
"I fear I can say no more at this time. Kashya's lieutenants report that you have proven yourself to be a capable warrior. Know that there will soon be need for capable warriors like yourself, know this and be ready."
"Why can't you tell me what is happening?"
Akara stood again, offering a tight smile.
"You will be told when all is ready, when we are ready," she stepped closer, carefully folding her hands in front of her in a somber gesture. "I am glad you came to see me. May the Great Eye watch over you, and protect you in your battles."
Eva understood the subtle hint, but refused to be dismissed so easily.
"I want to know what is this threat you speak of," she stood her ground.
"Eva," the warlock interrupted, drawing her attention fully to himself. "There is nothing more to be said. There are other matters to attend to."
He indicated the tent flap with his head pointedly. She paused in uncertainty, staring at Priest quizzically. He stared back, and his eyes told her nothing.
"And you?" she inquired defiantly.
There was a long moment of silence, during which the whistling of the wind outside could be heard.
"I will join you shortly," he said in subdued tones, turning meaningful eyes back to waiting Akara. "I shall stay with High Priestess for a moment, so that we may discuss...some other matter."
Eva didn't like what she was hearing, but she said nothing as she bent through the tent's flap, back into the cool night. Wind struck her in the face, faint but cold, smelling of rain and dirt.
The rain had ceased, leaving behind the ever-bland morass of mud and wetness. She used to like rain before coming to this bleak place. Now she hated it. She only hoped this terrible war wouldn't despoil for her everything once loved and cherished, as it had already made a burnt-out husk of so many precious things, now forever lost. Things, and...people.
Something cracked under her feet, causing her to look down. It was broken glass of potion bottles, trampled into mud like tiny shards of light. She let out an irritated breath, feeling a strange kind of unsettlement lying heavily at the bottom of her mind. A brief glance about told her that most of the camp's occupants have retreated into rest as evening turned to night, several fires still flickering in the oppressive darkness.
Eva wondered just what he meant by 'shortly'. The warlock didn't seem to share his perception of time with most people. Her weariness chased any annoyance and speculation from her thoughts; he would know where to find her, as he always did.
The Rogue guards observed her stoically, as suspicious as ever.
She paid them no heed and made her way back toward the central tent.