פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ
Chapter Twenty-Three: Walking Oblivion"Burn it down. All of it." Arcanum barked to the engineer, "I'd rather die before I let the Trollocs claim them as their own."
"Aye sir." The engineer saluted and raised a hand up in signal.
Arcanum gazed up at the Three Idylls, now stripped and barren but of their old skeleton. The weapon that broke the Gates of Night and shattered the walls of Shayol Ghul. Arcanum watched grimly as the soldiers tossed their oil-soaked torches onto the wooden frame, bathing the giants in flickering flames. They chewed up through their heights, until the three trebuchets were consumed in a towering inferno.
Arcanum smelled the heavy wood smoke mixing with the smoke of the burning corpses that lined the fields and gave a sad shake of his bushy head. Valor broke first, tumbling down into hot ruins. Liberty soon followed, leaving Honor standing alone, before it too followed its sisters into the ashes of death.
"General, sir. Thunder Legion has finished preparing for departure." Captain Blake saluted, his eyes following the descent of the last joist of Honor.
"Then we will leave this cursed place and dear hope that we are not too late."
"It is my duty to inform you that there has been some trouble with looting among the ranks."
"Looting?" Arcanum scratched his beard, "Trollocs have nothing worth to loot. Unless you speak of looting our own slain."
"No, sir. There have been glittering items reported on the bodies of the Shadowspawns. Fights have even begun to break out." Blake spat on the ground.
Arcanum felt shivers creep up his spine. There was something he should remember...something he should know. It was important; fragments of thought echoed in his mind, but he could not pull comprehension together. He was interrupted from his reverie by an aide saluting on arrival.
"Sir, perimeter is reporting that...I do not know how to put this, that the valley's fog is moving." The soldier cleared his throat nervously and tugged at his ear.
"Moving?" Arcanum felt his skin prickling and itching, as if ants were crawling across his scalp.
"It's expanding, sir. At Zephyr Hawk-that is the closest camp to Thakan'dar-the fog has already reached knee high. And still rising."
"Something's happening. Something dire and unprepared for," Arcanum turned slowly to gaze up at the tall visage of Shayol Ghul. The spire must have jogged his thought, because he finally found the words he was looking for, "the Horatica Horrors." The fairy story had chilled Arcanum to the bone as a child, and it still chilled him as an adult when he found out the Horrors had in fact happened. When it was finally ended, twelve villages of infected men, women, and children had to be razed to the ground, along with two companies of soldiers that had brought it to them.
Knowing he had to make a decision—the right decision-and make it fast, Arcanum turned back to Blake, "All soldiers seen looting from the corpses of Trollocs must and will be hung, and their bodies burnt until nothing of the flesh remains. Any looted items will be burned in the hottest fire and buried deep, take care to never make physical touch. If Cathon has problems with this order, he can take it up with me. The latter business I will take up with the Marshal General myself. Have you seen Cathon?"
"I am right here, Diest," Cathon announced himself, glancing casually at the burnt skeleton of Honor. Trailing behind him was the dark-haired Airena, who seemed to have recovered from her earlier ordeal, and the specter of a Warder.
"We must leave now. Most of the preparations for departure have been finished. Anything that is not ready will be left behind." Arcanum pronounced. There seemed to be an awkwardness between the two generals since the fateful meeting in Thakan'dar, but neither man seemed willing to acknowledge it.
"It is nearly night and the journey will be hazardous."
"You must be aware that Thakan'dar is moving to consume the camps, and I suspect this entire siege was a bullied lamb to lead us to our doom. And to allow Ba'alzamon to strike at our heart."
"I agree that we must leave now. The essence of our momentum has been lost and He recovers and prepares its strike back. We must leave, indeed. Or not leave at all."
"And do you agree that your plan was in folly?"
Cathon met Arcanum's gaze with steady eyes, "By now, the walls of Shayol Ghul would have been tumbled into its tomb, and its denizens laid to their unholy demise. But I will not banter with you of what could have been. We will leave. I have already given the general command. And I will finish by saying that I agree with your decisions regarding looters. Nothing must be taken from the soil of Thakan'dar, nothing that glitters, nothing gold, unless we want a repeat of Horatica."
"Then let us cease this argument. I cannot wait to leave."
"One more thing." Cathon raised his voice over the noise of soldiers moving into march formations, "Airena tells me of a means to hurry our journey home."
Airena returned Arcanum's skeptical glance with an unflinching gaze, "Yes, I know of a shortcut-if one can say such of it. I make no promises but this cannot hurt, as it seems that with the months—if not years-required for a hard march to reach Manetheren, whatever will happen will have happened anyways."
"And what is this shortcut?" Arcanum grumbled impatiently, his eyes studying his Legion's final movements.
"The Ways." Airena pronounced her answer solemnly as if it was of large merit.
"Would you like to explain, Aes Sedai, or perhaps you would like to continue throwing out nonsense words. If the latter, I have my legion to attend to." Arcanum turned to leave, but was stopped by Airena who stayed his shoulder with a surprisingly powerful grip.
Her green irises pierced deep into Arcanum's eyes, "During the Breaking when the Male Channelers were crazed by the taint of the Dark One's counterstrike, a few of these men took shelter in Ogier Steddings, whose properties allowed them to live relatively taint-free. And in payment, they took the mythical Talisman of Growing and created Waygates at the perimeter of many Steddings. The Ways connected each of these Gates, forming a world above, below, within, and without this World we live in. Time is different in the Ways, bent and distorted, and so is distance. The Ogiers have used these passages since the Breaking to travel between steddings, to make a journey of a day from what once was a trek of a month."
"With all due respect, Aes Sedai, I get enough of my fairy tales from Lawe here. Might as well stop by the Eye of the World."
"I have traveled in the Ways, General. It very much exists, a treasured heirloom kept by the Ogier, but the privilege given out to a select few. Aes Sedai are always welcome and respected, and I can navigate the Ways quite readily."
"Assuming for the moment that you are correct, Aes Sedai, which I will acquiesce to you. If a Waygate exists at every Stedding, then we have an exit close to Victa Manetheren, but we are in the middle of the Blasted Lands. How far must we travel to reach a supposed entrance?"
"If my memory serves me correctly, then Sherandu-one of the rare bastions left in the Blight-is forty leagues due south of us, and the Ogier Council will no doubt allow the Band passage through their Waygate if they are appraised of the quandary you and Manetheren are in."
"I hope you are correct, Aes Sedai." Arcanum grudgingly accepted the wisdom in Airena's words. If it works, then they might reach Manetheren in time. If it didn't, many will suffer.
"We set hard march to Sherandu, Diest," Cathon finally spoke, and motioning to two soldiers leading horses, "Mount quickly and ride with me. I fear we might be too late in our trek."
Arcanum noticed then the fog carpeting the ground, creeping and billowing from its source. He nodded grimly and leaped up the side of the offered gelding. He quickly followed behind Cathon, riding towards the head of the soldiers.
The Band of Red Hand reacted quickly, as each soldier was spurred into action, perhaps impelled by some personal demons or the encroaching fog. Airena rode before the generals, her eyes staring oddly out into the distance. Warder jogged his steed heavily by her side, scanning the horizons of the wasteland.
Yet as they journeyed farther from the spire of Shayol Ghul, they could not leave the fog behind. To the contrary, the fog increased in height and thickness, its progress almost imperceptible, but its result readily apparent. Soon, the fog rose as high over their heads as it had in Thakan'dar, and visibility was reduced to almost nothing.
The men had walked in brooding silence, but now mutters and whispers cascaded through the ranks like a worm chewing through the Band's collective mettle. There was a tangible hesitation and fear creeping into the blinded troops, as if soaked into the skin from the cold dead wall that surrounded them.
Arcanum rubbed his Shell of Caldazar uneasily, glad to some extent of its partial protection against the fog. Like a wild but intelligent animal, the fog avoided all wearers of the Shell, creating a small aura of clarity. Not afforded with such protection, Airena had to deal with the fog in her own way, first with a shimmering ball of light that floated gently before her to illuminate her path. But soon even that became useless as the fog appeared to thicken and darken. Cathon had offered her the Shell of the late Jot Diadrem, which she refused at first, but eventually relented in the face of the fog's darkness, receiving it as if it was a slimy and repulsing toad from the look on her face.
And the Band tramped on in growing restlessness, through an endless haze to an unknown destination. Then the noises begin.
Arcanum dismissed them at first, as the shifting and creaking of saddles, or the distorted muffles of palaver, or even the howl of wind over the many cracks in the ground. But it grew incessant and louder, grating on his nerves like an itch that cannot be scratched.
"It sounds like singing." Arcanum remarked, to quiet his own nerves. The generals were riding almost touching horses, in order to be able to see each other.
"Whispering." Vader added, patting the tense neck of his horse.
"Should we send scouts out?"
"No." Cathon immediately answered, "I have no doubts that any man who leaves the press of his fellow soldiers will never be found again. If something is out there, there is nothing we can do but wait. Patiently or otherwise."
"We are within a half day's march within Sherandu." Airena reined her horse closer, "Once we reach the safety of the stedding, we should be safe from anything that hails from the Blasted Lands. Though I do confess that this fog is greatly disorienting me."
"Then I pray that you lead us out with all the powers at your disposal. Or I fear that we may be trapped inside this fog forever." Cathon glanced at the fog, as if studying something afar.
That same fear was paramount on every mind of every soldier. That the Band was traveling in circles or frozen in a massive spell to wander through the white nothingness for eternity. Or once they have left, they will discover the world has changed, that all have been lost. These apprehensions gnawed away as the men marched. The days and nights were drowned away in the same murky sea of white, punctuated only by meals until the food stores ran out on the second day. There was no time to sleep or rest, just a sheer desperation propelling them forward.
Arcanum felt that wild desperation stirring inside him as well. He could not tell how long they had been on the march to the mythical Waygate, but it felt to him that he had almost forgotten life beyond the fog. He heard the voices in the fog, and had even begun to see faces not a couple days ago. And the damned fog stayed. It made no sense. But it stayed. Arcanum could take pain, but not this...this numbness. Arcanum would not be surprised if this was what death was like. Have they died? There were always tales of the haunted battlefields where the ghosts of the slain walk and relive their battles from dusk to dawn, not realizing that they had passed away. Have their own mortal flames been snuffed, and now they are forced to shuffle the plains of afterlife as wraiths and ghosts?
The blade laid over his pommel felt real, but even the sheen of its folded Manetheren steel was dull in this land, as if the flicker of life was sucked away. Arcanum felt the reassuring hilt of his sword as he gazed out into the nether world of the fog. There was not a single sheathed sword in the Band. A weapon in hand gave the men some power, especially in circumstances where they were completely powerless. For the weary men, the sword was their insurance. For men have disappeared. Some fleeing into the fog, their minds finally cracking, while others simply vanished in midstride and mid-conversation. And then there were the drum beats in the distance. Some could hear it, others could not. Arcanum cocked his head to listen but only heard the soft whispers that had plagued them from Thakan'dar.
Then the fog was gone.
Arcanum flinched from the harsh light of the sun and spun his horse around. They stood upon a field of blackened and rotting land. He felt a faint tingle on his skin, but he may have imagined it. But there was no fog here, only ruin and decay. Behind them was a wall of wispy smog and men stumbling into the light, blinking up at the sky. Some shouted and clasped each other in subdued glee. Others simply collapsed bonelessly on the ground.
"This is not right." Airena leaped off her mare and kneeled on the ground, "This should be Sherandu. And...it is Sherandu. But there's nothing here but death and decay."
"The Dark One is patient and his touch far-reaching. No fortress will hold out against him for long." Arcanum dismounted and touched the swampy ground with a cautious gauntlet, "Nothing left here. Let us find the Waygate and go."
"Yes, I suppose. It is...it is just such a shock. I was only here perhaps ten years past, and I can still remember the sphere of beauty inside the ravages of the Blasted Land. Perhaps it was just a silly sop-girl's wish to finally escape the ravages of war, if only for a few hours." Airena shook her head slightly, "But, I prattle on meaninglessly, when we should be departing. I can still recognize the land, and we are not far from the Waygate. But we must leave the limited protection of the Stedding and that means entering the fog once more."
"The fog is retreating." General Trystan suddenly interjected, pointing at where they had entered the Stedding.
Indeed, before their eyes, the fog that had plagued them for leagues pulled away, shrinking into the distance. But then, the fog was the least of their worries.
Down the vast barren land stood ranks upon ranks of Trollocs and Shadow Spawn, stretching far across the landscape, waiting just outside the unseen boundary. Their numbers were thick and their blackened blades were like branches in an ominous forest.
"Arms! To arms!" The recently celebrating men drew their swords once more, blinking their weakened eyes, and rocking on their unsteady feet, as if drunk by their imprisonment in the fog.
"Can they enter the Stedding?" Arcanum yelled over the din, yanking hard on his reigns to keep his gelding under control.
"Once, I would've said no. But something happened here." Airena neatly mounted her horse, "It looks like they are just standing beyond the barrier, but who knows if it will hold them indefinitely."
"They outnumber us by at least two times." Cathon called out. "We cannot move out to engage them, and they do not seem to be able to come in. A stalemate of some sort. At this moment. However, I do not wish to be a sitting duck in here. We must leave, even if we must bear the risk of leaving the Stedding."
"My thoughts exactly." Airena pulled off her borrowed medallion and tossed it to Cathon. Then she spun her horse and set off, yelling "FOLLOW ME! Those men who wish to live to see their land again, follow me!"
"You heard her!" Cathon echoed, and nearby soldiers quickly obeyed, until there was a liquid stream of men flowing after her. "Form and hold a perimeter around the Waygate!"
Arcanum spun his horse to reach his Legion, but also maintained a sharp eye on the surrounding host. The Trollocs howled and pounded their weapons together, but did not seem to step forth into the Stedding. A few thrown swords were exchanged between the two deadlocked opponents, and at least one Trolloc toppled, clutching a hilt in his throat. Then, the Band archers moved in, stitching the Horde's ranks with feathered pain. But the Trollocs responded quickly, raising heavy iron shields before them to create a wall against the now impotent arrows. This high level of tactics was something that Arcanum had never seen in the Trolloc Horde, and he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then something caught his eyes. Squads of brutish Trollocs were slowly making their way towards the Stedding, towing giant cauldron-like engines, with steam and smoke billowing out of the opening at the top. Arcanum counted nearly dozens of them from their tell-tale steam trails. Whatever they were, they were trouble.
When Arcanum finally reached the flanking units of his Legion, the sky wept fire. The earth shook as balls of flame struck heavily down. Men and horses were sent flying, and the earth rippled with the impacts. Arcanum was thrown off his horse by the shockwave, landing forcefully on his back. Arcanum fumbled back to his feet amidst the sudden increased movement of the panicked soldiers.
From his vantage point, Arcanum was stunned by the harbingers of their doom. Those numerous cauldron-engines were spewing out fireballs, spiraling and arching through the air, almost without rest. They pounded down among the ranks without mercy, filling the air with soot and sulfurous fumes. Where they landed, they splashed down liquid fire that could not be extinguished.
Thunder Legion attempted to answer back and cover for the Band's escape, but Arcanum's catapults were wholly unprepared and without any arsenals. Desperate men piled on all manners of scavenged items, from swords and shields to broken down pieces of wagons. One such loaded catapult fired, sending thousands of horseshoes hurling through the air. By sheer luck, they struck one of the cauldrons, and somehow managed to block the wide rim. Cracks began to spider web through its exterior, and frothy liquid sprayed out. Then the engine exploded into fragments, slicing through the Trolloc ranks like thousands of knives. But that was the only luck Thunder Legion could boast that day, as the rest of the cauldrons continued to bark their destruction unabated into the Stedding.
As Arcanum dove into the ground from a close hit by one of those machines, he was stunned at how the Trollocs could create such inferno engines. True, they had stolen many secrets, such as Manetheren steel, but these machines were outside anything of human ingenuity.
"Move out the cats!" Arcanum bellowed, clambering to his feet and seeing most of the Band were streaming towards the Stedding-border some distance away, "Our job here is done!"
His Legion responded quickly, retreating back towards the rest of the Band. Fireballs and debris scattered all around them, and screams and moans bloomed and were silenced.
"DIEST!" Arcanum looked to see a mounted Vader and a cadre of cavalry riding toward him, "Move your men quickly! We cannot hold the perimeter around the gate much longer! There will be a thousand paces between the boundary of the Stedding and the Waygate. You must shoot through the gauntlet! Arcanum, you must—"
Arcanum flinched and was crushed to the ground by the roar that swallowed Vader's voice. He felt searing heat crisp his eyebrows and chew at his face and upraised arms. He scrambled to his feet for what must have been the tenth time that day and gasped. A fireball had descended upon where Vader and his escorts had been, and had scattered and broken them like toy soldiers. The ground flickered with liquid flames, and the corpses began to disintegrate, leaving nothing to salvage.
Cursing, Arcanum stumbled towards the exit with the last batch of his surviving men and their catapults. They pushed out through the border of the Stedding and into the gap of battle. With no boundary here, Trollocs had poured in to battle the Band as they fought their way toward the Waygate. It was sheer chaos on all sides and Arcanum was almost disoriented by the fog of war. But as one unit, he and his Legion hacked their way through the roiling masses, and suddenly saw the burning white light that could only be the Gateway, surrounded by a shimmering dome. Then he cursed. The Waygate was not big enough to allow his catapults through.
"Cut off the catapults! Abandon them!" Arcanum shouted. The teams obeyed readily, dropping their lines to leave the precious engines mired in the mud. Arcanum hacked and hewed past until he reached a barricade that the defenders had erected out of abandoned wagons and carts. He began to slide through a small break in the barricade when a Trolloc face loomed before his own. Then the spawn gurgled and toppled over, revealing the blurred form of Warder, casting death all around the Waygate. Arcanum quickly backed into the tingly translucent sphere. Airena stood at the fore of the Gate, arms raised to hold up her small barrier as the last soldiers pushed in and funneled into the shimmering white portal.
"Vader, is he...?" Airena asked at his arrival, though her eyes were closed in concentration.
"Another casualty of war. Damn that stubborn bastard. Are we the last?"
"Go in." Arcanum obeyed, pushing into the bright pulsing entrance and felt himself stretching and bending as if in two places at once. Then he was through, stumbling into the back of the soldier who had entered before.
The first thing he noticed was the blue of the sky and the vibrant grass.
Airena entered and the Waygate slammed shut.
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