Chapter Thirteen: Wheeling South

Warmaster Athellenas prodded the smoking corpse of the demon with his armored boot. Well, to be technical, it was more a charred skeleton than a corpse. Moments ago, Jerrod had shot the demon right in the chest with a barrage of lightning—a feat few mages would be able to pull off. The withering storm of magical energies had reduced the once-mighty demon to a pile of black bones.

"You really did a number on the bastard, old friend," the Warmaster grunted. He spat on the bones of the demon and turned around to face his friend, who was busy healing the burns he had received from his fight with the demon.

Jerrod glanced over at his latest kill and gave a wan smile. "Been a while since I've killed a demon of that caliber," the Cleric agreed. "Had me worried for a few seconds."

"What? Worried? You dodged everything it threw at you!"

"That's why I was worried only for a few seconds, not for a full minute," Jerrod shrugged. "Didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you."

The northern Menaphite city of Iunu burned. The hordes under the command of Thammaron, Zamorak's highest ranking lieutenant, had swept through the area several weeks prior. Thammaron did not have the time to remain in any one place for too long, though, so a small Zamorackian force had been left behind to destroy the city while the rest pressed on.

Athellenas had arrived with his Element the day before, and they had wiped out the Zamorackian attackers before Iunu was completely razed. The demon Jerrod had killed had been the commander of those Zamorackians, as well as the last one to die.

Though Iunu burned, it was back in Human hands. Did that make the destruction of most of the city worth it? To many, it did.

The multitude of soldiers who had witnessed Jerrod's fight with the demon commander began to disperse. The square in front of the inner city gate of Iunu had contained the final pocket of Zamorackian resistance. The demon commander had been the last of that pocket to fall. Iunu was now completely cleansed.

Athellenas directed the soldiers to their commanders and ordered Sir Derren to begin organizing the men to try and stem the fires consuming the outer reaches of Iunu. In the meantime, he turned back towards the inner wall, behind which the survivors of the city had been holed up, fighting tooth and nail against the demonic attackers.

Iunu had two main sections; there was the common city, which was pretty much the entire place. Separate, however, from the larger whole was the inner city of Iunu, where the local Emir would reside, along with his family. It was protected by another wall, built just as strong—if not stronger than the outer wall encompassing the entire city.

From what Athellenas had seen, there were still survivors holed up in the inner city. He had been able to see Qarat archers manning the walls, though when he looked up now, the walls were empty.

This didn't matter, though. As soon as Jerrod smote the demon, the gate leading into the inner city had started to swing open. The Warmaster and the Cleric both broke away from the Centralian Legions and crossed over to the center of the square.

The gates opened fully and a procession of ragged, exhausted, dull-eyed men clad in battered and dented blue and gold Qarat armor stumbled out. One single glance told Athellenas that these men had been fighting nonstop for days, maybe even weeks.

These Qarat soldiers were accompanied by scores of civilians—women, children, elderly. Athellenas suspected that all of the able-bodied men in the city had probably been conscripted, as he saw no younger males among the civilians. He pictured civilians who had probably never held a weapon larger than a common dagger in their lives. Civilians who were given a sword or scimitar, fitted in armor, rushed to a gate, and ordered to fight. They wouldn't have lasted an hour.

The thought made Athellenas sick to his stomach, but he could not bring himself to pass judgment on the Menaphites. Had it been Tethys that was under attack, Athellenas probably would have instituted a city-wide conscription as well. The Warmaster hoped with every fiber of his being that this would never come to pass.

The Centralian soldiers stepped into the square and helped the Menaphite civilians out of the gate. Under the direction of the centurions, they began directing them towards the main boulevard that led outside of the city, back where Athellenas's men had breached the outer wall. Food and shelter, as well as medical attention, awaited them there.

They were also being moved outside of the city so that they would not hamper the 1st Element's efforts to bring the fires under control. Civilians getting in the way would greatly complicate matters.

Among the crowd of survivors was a man who was not quite as fatigued, not quite as ragged as the others. He wore a simple yellow tunic and a white turban adorned with silver cord. He had a short, cropped black beard that hugged his chin, and a sharp, hawkish nose.

"Looks like the local Emir's coming to say thank-you," Jerrod remarked to the Warmaster. He then leaned in close and whispered, "I hope he brings us candy."

"Check your tongue, old friend," Athellenas warned the Cleric. "No need to make any Menaphites our enemies today."

That got a short laugh out of Jerrod, but the Cleric did shut his mouth and step back.

"I am Saddir al-Aqar, Emir of Iunu," the bearded Menaphite in the yellow tunic introduced himself formally. "You have saved my city and my subjects from complete annihilation…my house is now your house. If ever you are in need of shelter, my roof shall provide it."

"I…uh-" Athellenas stammered, not expecting this sudden surge of fraternity from the Emir. The Warmaster had been among Menaphites many times in the past—mostly during his adventures with Jerrod back in his youth—but many of their customs were still a mystery to him.

"You and your men are Centralians," the Emir observed, a hint of surprise evident in his voice. "May I ask what the purpose for your presence in this Empire is? This is an odd place to see so many of King Osman's soldiers passing through."

"I am Athellenas of the Far Reaches, son of Thorvald, Warmaster of the King's soldiers and armies," Athellenas introduced himself as well, invoking his formal titles and his origins. It was a greeting he very seldom used, saving it only for situations like the present one, when he was in the company of unknown, high-ranking officials.

"I have heard of you," the Emir nodded, as if confirming a previous suspicion. "Your reputation as a soldier and a leader precedes you."

Athellenas ignored Jerrod's subtle yawn from behind and continued his end of the conversation. "I have been dispatched by order of my King to assist in the defense of Uzer. Your capital must not be razed."

The Emir cocked an eyebrow. "You had best spur yourselves on. The hordes that ravaged my city have surely passed beyond the Shantay Pass by now. Your—our time is running thin."

Athellenas gave a mirthless smile. "Then we haven't a moment to lose."

Athellenas grunted as Jerrod managed to score a hit on his upper right arm. The Cleric withdrew just as fast as he had struck, spinning his staff around in his hands like a street performer's baton.

Before they had agreed to spar, Athellenas had questioned the elemental staff's ability to stand up to a runite sword, but Jerrod had assured the Warmaster that his staff was quite indestructible. So far, he had been proven right; Athellenas had hit that staff with dozens of crushing blows already and it didn't even have a nick.

"Come on, old friend," Jerrod quipped, taking a defensive stance. "Surely you have realized by now that conventional forms mean nothing to me."

Athellenas grasped his sword hilt with both hands, raising his blade above his head in a high-guard stance. It was always better to have a high guard because your first strike would always be swooping downward, working with gravity.

Jerrod struck again, aiming for Athellenas's leg. The Warmaster jumped, bringing his legs up as the staff whooshed right below them. The Warmaster landed back on his feet and sprang forward.

Athellenas lashed out at his old friend, attempting to strike him in the side of his head with the flat of his blade, but the Cleric's staff was suddenly blocking the way. Athellenas let his blade slide off of the elemental staff's wood, bringing it back around in an uppercut aimed at the Cleric's side, but that, too, was deflected.

Athellenas rained blow after blow on his old friend, but he was blocked every single time. It had been a long time since the Warmaster had fought someone who was able to hold their own against him in this manner. Jerrod went on the offensive suddenly, almost effortlessly knocking Athellenas's blade aside and cracking him right on the other shoulder.

"Ach!" Athellenas stumbled, swearing under his breath. "Now I remember why I didn't do this more often in the past…"

Jerrod let out a hearty laugh. "I am one of the best, so don't feel too ashamed."

"I'd really like to see you fight an Ainu senshi-master from the Eastern Lands," Athellenas muttered. "That would make my day."

Jerrod resumed the sparring match by thrusting his staff forward, aiming for Athellenas's stomach. If he landed a hit like that, Athellenas would be forced to the ground, having the wind knocked right out of him.

Instead of twisting away from the blow, Athellenas deflected it with his sword, working his blade around the wooden staff in a tight circle until it was forced from Jerrod's hands.

"Interesting…" the Cleric murmured. "I like that…"

Athellenas sheathed his sword. "I think we should call it a night, my friend. I don't want us to beat each other up too much before another big march. Plus, we've been fighting all day today…I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Liar," Jerrod chuckled. "You fight with the same strength you did back when your hair was still black. Still…rest and recuperation does take priority over entertainment."

"Are you sure you cannot remain with us any longer?" Athellenas asked his old fiend as he straightened up and smoothed out his beard. "You have been invaluable to us."

The Cleric shook his head, genuine regret visible in his eyes. "Sorry, but I cannot. God of Light's orders. I have to get to Ullek before Thammaron's cronies do. If the boy from the Prophecy is captured…well, you know how screwed we'd be if that happens."

Athellenas let out a sigh, but gave an agreeing nod. "I figured that's what you would say. I suppose Ullek takes priority…but still, I do wish you could stay."

"You still have your Paladin. Anesti is a powerful mage…not as good as me, naturally, but he'll prove a suitable substitute," Jerrod shrugged. He bent over and picked up his elemental staff, which had been lying in the place where it had landed after Athellenas had sent it flying. Its orb gave a slight flash and glowed faintly, as if it were happy to be back in the hands of its creator.

"I will not be here when you wake," Jerrod said to Athellenas. "You will be hard-pressed to reach Uzer before Thammaron…I'll be even harder-pressed to reach Ullek. It's a long way."

"May the Gods watch over you."

Jerrod chuckled again. "Oh, Saradomin's probably watching me right now. Nosy old bat, he is."

Father Jerrod walked aimlessly through the ruins of Iunu. It was still the middle of the night, but the dull glow of the fires that still burned in the city illuminated the darkness. Columns of smoke, colored a hellish red by the fires, still climbed into the sky. The stars were hidden, obscured by the smog.

The Cleric passed by several groups of soldiers who were forming quasi-fire brigades running from wells to burning buildings, passing buckets of water from man to man in order to quench the fires before they destroyed too much. Such teams of soldiers were scattered all throughout the city.

This was Jerrod's first war. That certainly does not mean that he was inexperienced; far from it. The thing is that formal, official wars do not occur as frequently as people think they do. Humanity has been more or less united against Zamorak's onslaught…excluding the maddened, misguided individuals who threw in their lot with the Dark One, for whatever reason. But they were a minority.

Zamorak's last attack against the lands under Saradomin's sway occurred six hundred years ago. He had swept down from the Wilderness and burned the northern half of Centralia. The Centralian Army, with the assistance of the Iceyene from the Hallowlands and the Menaphites, managed to fight Zamorak's hordes to a standstill just north of Tethys. Zamorak was then driven back to and defeated on the banks of the Salve, the river that forms the border between Centralia and the northern reaches of the Hallowlands.

Ever since then, there had been no real war against Zamorak, but there had always been fighting, and a deep-seated, general fear of another invasion from the north. In Jerrod's youth, he had spent countless months and years fighting nightmarish monsters alongside his friend Athellenas. There had been constant werewolf and vampyre presence in the Hallowlands, constant undead uprisings in the far north of Centralia…monsters were everywhere, and it was thanks to adventurers and warriors like Athellenas and Jerrod that towns all over Centralia weren't affected by them very much.

For now, at least.

So even though this was the first time Jerrod was in an actual war, he had still seen and done more than almost any other human alive. In this day and age, not being in a war meant nothing. In fact, there was probably more fighting to be had outside of a war, what with pirates, bandits, and marauders constantly harassing law-abiding citizens.

The soldiers whom Jerrod passed by all gave him respectful nods and salutes. Word of his fight with the demon seemed to be spreading. The Cleric allowed himself a small smile. He didn't accomplish feats like single-handedly taking down a greater demon just so that people would tell stories about him, but it was a perk that he certainly didn't mind.

As he was walking past an overturned street kiosk, he hesitated, noticing that its stock had been an assortment of Menaphite rugs. The Cleric stopped in his tracks, an idea coming to mind. He had originally intended to seek out an ugthanki camel, or spirit a horse away from the 1st Element cavalry in order to provide him with transportation through the desert to Ullek, but he may have just found an alternative…

Jerrod nodded, his mind made up. He selected a single red and gold carpet from the stand and laid it out flat on the street. He took a deep breath, laid his staff down next to him, and crouched down over the carpet, interlacing his fingers and cracking the knuckles. Time for a little magic.

Not all magic is purely elemental. Some of it comes solely from the Anima Mundi and does not involve invoking Air, Water, Earth, or Fire. It was a different kind of magic than that of the elements, an inner magic that ran purely on life force.

Jerrod crawled onto the rug, sitting cross-legged in the center. He grabbed his staff and laid it across his lap. He then checked his belt, making sure he had plenty of water for the trip ahead. Satisfied that he did, he then closed his eyes, taking long, deep breaths.

The Cleric shut out all external distractions, focusing only on his inner energy, and the rug that he was sitting on. The tendrils of his mind crept into the fibers of the rug. He gave a little smile as he felt them; the tiny, miniscule microorganisms that seemed to exist everywhere. In the soil, in the water, in the air, on other living things…life was simply everywhere, even if it was too small for the eye to see.

Jerrod tapped into the trace life energies of these countless microorganisms living in the carpet. Tiny and insignificant as they were, even these life forms had the Anima Mundi pulsing inside of them. Jerrod paused for a moment to regain focus before proceeding. He focused hard on the microorganisms in the carpet, concentrating on each and every one of them. He then made as if he were about to invoke an elemental spell; tapping into his own Anima Mundi and transmuting it into the form of kinetic energy. This was all done in the mind, and it is the basis for every spell a mage casts.

Jerrod allowed his own life energy to flow into the microorganisms of the carpet, supersaturating their own life forces. Each of their life forces swelled to a humongous size and mingled with each other until it seemed as if the rug itself had one large life essence. The Cleric murmured under his breath, focusing hard on that energy. He stabilized it, solidified it, and quickly bent it to his will. That energy was his to command.

And command it he would.

The Menaphites had jealously guarded the secret of creating a magic carpet since as long as anyone could remember. Jerrod had discovered how to do it in a matter of days after riding a few himself. It amused him how fiercely the Menaphites kept secret an art that was so simple to practice. Well, simple for the likes of him, at least. Maybe not so simple for other mages. The concept of microorganisms was something very few could wrap their minds around in this day and age. The only reason Jerrod understood it was because he had spent ten years in a swamp, surrounded by all kinds of life. Especially the very small kind; all of the puddles and lakes of the Virid Swamp were teeming with bacteria, algae, and all sorts of tiny life forms.

The energized rug lifted itself into the air a few inches and hovered uncertainly, as if it were waiting for Jerrod's orders. In a sense, it actually was. Jerrod gave a quiet tut-tut and gave the carpet another energy burst. This time, it shot at least twenty feet into the air.

"Better…" the Cleric murmured. Under his careful guidance, the carpet began to drift lazily through the air, heading down the street. Gradually, however, its meager speed began to accumulate, almost like a snowball gaining momentum while rolling down a hill. Within a minute or so, the carpet was whizzing through the streets of Iunu faster than a horse at full clip.

After another minute, once the Cleric was satisfied the carpet was going fast enough—at least twice as fast as a soaring hawk—Jerrod relinquished his hold over the carpet's speed. It would remain constant until he desired to bring it back down. He only kept hold over the direction he wanted the carpet to travel in; if he released his hold on that, too, he would smash right into a wall.

Men shouted and pointed from below, gesticulating madly at the dark shape flitting through the sky. Most of them had never seen magic carpets before.

Jerrod increased his elevation until he was well above the tallest rooftops and towers. As he passed from the city boundaries, his brow furrowed in a curious frown. Something about slipping out into the night without saying or giving any sort of good-bye just didn't settle well with the Cleric. Jerrod grunted quietly to himself, twisted around, and set his staff down at his feet. He took a deep breath, focusing on his inner energy once more. The orb at the tip of his staff glowed red as it supplied him with the elemental energy of fire.

A spark appeared in between the Cleric's palms. Jerrod concentrated on that spark, layering it with dozens of different swirls and eddies of flame, all compressed into the spark's tiny volume. Once he was finished, he opened his eyes and flung his hands forward. The spark shot out of his grasp, flying out into the night sky. Jerrod watched it go.

For a moment, the spark seemed to fizzle out and vanish from view. Then, out of nowhere, a huge, brilliant explosion of red lit up the night sky. It was laced with green, yellow, and several other colors, as well as smaller pieces of orange fire that fizzled around like party imps. The explosion was also perfectly symmetrical and shaped in the form of a starburst.

Jerrod allowed himself a wry grin as he turned back to face front, the brilliance of his firework show silhouetting him from behind. All those valiant heroes and legends from old were all the same; they did something great and wonderful, the people loved them to death, but they were also some of the humblest people you'd ever meet. They never wanted any of the attention they got for their actions.

The Cleric chuckled quietly to himself. They didn't know what they were missing.

Jerrod then gazed off towards the southern horizon, where the next part of his destiny lay. His smile slowly vanished, replaced by an expression of grim determination. He had a boy he needed to recover, as well as a Zamorackian horde that he needed to outpace. This was going to be a close one, even for him.

"Ullek, here I come…"

Author's Note

Alright, I'm really sorry for taking so long to get this chapter up. I've been away for the past two weeks, and the power went out right before I left, so I couldn't post anything. I know, it sounds like an unlikely bunch of bad luck, but it's the truth.

Ah well, the point is that I'm back now. Enjoy!

-TheAmateur