Chapter Fifteen: Impending Doom

Avis opened his eyes, shaking his head to help himself regain full awareness. He felt as if he had been daydreaming…falling asleep for a short amount of time, only to suddenly snap out of it. Only this time, he knew he had not been asleep…he simply didn't remember what had happened a few seconds ago.

To his absolute shock, Avis saw the still-smoking corpses of the entire group of death knights that had slaughtered the penal battalion littering the sand all around him. Well, at least the corpses of those that hadn't been blown to bits; pieces of the dark, spike-adorned, spiny death knight armor were scattered all over the place. The sand all around Avis was also charred black. In some places it had even turned to glass.

For a moment, the only thought going through the boy's head was, Did I do this…?

Avis didn't have time to fully appreciate the sight, however. Regardless of how those death knights had ended up dead, the boy was just thankful that they were dead. He would have time to think about it later; right now, there was a large horde of monsters heading right towards him.

"Time to go…" Avis muttered to himself. As he turned to flee from the rapidly-approaching line of werewolves, vampyres, and death knights, though, Nasser's voice came back to him: And where would we go? Death lies behind us as well as ahead of us. If the Qarat sees us retreating they will kill us.

While the penal battalion was marching to its doom earlier, Avis had noticed that the archers assigned to guard the prisoners had remained behind at the Qarat defenses. What, then, was keeping the battalion from breaking ranks and running? Nasser had then reminded him that the Qarat immediately killed anyone whom they saw running away.

Avis quickly made up his mind anyway, turning tail and sprinting back across the sand dunes towards the city. If he remained where he was, death was certain. If he tried to make it back to the city, death was only very likely. Avis would take 'very likely' over 'certain' any day. And still, he had one rare thing none of the Qarat soldiers possessed. Magic. He had somehow just blasted his way through over twenty death knights; he had not gone through all that just to get downed by some schmuck with a bow and arrow.

A small plume of dust and sand was kicked up behind Avis as he ran. Though he was not the strongest person ever to grace the earth, the boy sure did know how to run. Running was a skill any thief needed to survive, and now it was going to help save Avis's life again.

The forward series of trenches and wooden defenses became visible again as Avis crested the final major sand dune in between him and Ullek's southeastern gate. The boy heard soldiers shouting as he drew near. An arrow thucked into the sand in front of him, no doubt a warning shot. The Qaratai manning the section of defenses where Avis was headed leveled their spears, threatening to impale the boy if he continued.

Shouts of "Turn back!" and "Coward!" rose up from the ranks of soldiers. Avis resisted the urge to reply in kind; it's not as if any of them had been sent into the meatgrinder. He had charged a force of death knights whilst the soldiers remained safely tucked away behind their trenches.

Avis kept right on going. Nothing was going to get in his way this time. He tensed when he heard the loud twang of dozens of arrows being fired at once. If he wasn't careful, he would get shot so full of arrows he would resemble a porcupine.

The boy looked up and, for a brief moment, saw the hail of arrows whistling through the sky, heading right for him. He took a deep breath and leaped into the air. He spun around as he jumped, lashing out with his leg and fists. An arc of concentrated wind exploded out from the boy. Many of the incoming arrows were shattered, and the rest were deflected, flying every which way.

Avis hit the sand and kept on running towards the trench. He stared at the spears and pikes pointing right at him and briefly wondered how painful it would be to have one of those in his gut. Well, he did not plan on having that happen. Ever.

The moment before he was about to get run through by the leveled spears, Avis jumped into the air, going into a forward flip. Normally, most people would never have even cleared the wooden stake defenses with a leap like that, but Avis was not most people. He had Air Magic.

Avis, just at the point in his forward flip where he was upside-down, released the deep breath he had taken when he had deflected the arrows, pushing down with his hands and arms. Another powerful gust of wind roared down out of his mouth and from his hands, propelling him up at least twenty feet into the air, vaulting him clear over the leveled spears, the wooden defenses, and the entire trench.

The boy was not finished, however. Inspiration struck him as he finished his flip and sailed back down towards the sand. Rather than actually land, he gathered the air around him and let loose another jet of wind, pushing himself further up into the air. When he started to fall again, he repeated the process; gathering the air around him in a thick cocoon and releasing it in a powerful, concentrated jet of wind.

After a few tries of this, Avis then had a new idea. Constantly having to gather the air and release it all as wind would get tiring after a few minutes. Instead, he streamlined the process—concentrating the air around himself at the same time and rate as he was releasing it, resulting in a constant jet of wind keeping him aloft.

The boy was flying. Avis's face broke out in a radiant grin as this realization hit him. He was surprised that this use of Air Magic had never occurred to him before. He had figured out how to weaponize air, how to use it to cut through even the toughest of metals…and yet it had never occurred to him before that he could try using it to fly.

After a few seconds, Avis no longer had to continue gathering the air around himself in a cocoon; he had gained enough forward momentum that he simply channeled the wind that would normally be blowing in his face and forced it to propel himself forward even faster. Concentrating hard, the boy modified the shape of the air cocoon into more of a wedge, with its point extending forward in front of him so that it cut through the wind and removed air resistance as a hindrance.

The city walls drew near as Avis kept up his flight. He had ascended to a height that just barely surpassed the walls. If he kept this up, he would be able to sail right over the walls and into Ullek. This sure beat having to fight back in through the heavily-defended gate.

Avis flinched as he felt a sharp pain in his chest, but he ignored it. All that mattered was getting over that wall. He took another deep breath and redoubled his efforts, gaining another ten feet of altitude just as he reached the wall. With an unrestrained whoop of joy, the boy sailed over Ullek's southeastern wall, flying right into the city, leaving the archers who were manning the wall speechless.

Once he made it back into the city, Avis steadily began to release the magic. Flying through the center of Ullek was not the best way to lie low, which was exactly what he needed to do right now. He was fairly certain the Qarat would not waste time hunting him—the city was about to come under full attack; the army had more important things to deal with than runaways. Still…Avis knew in his heart that he would have to leave Ullek. All of the Qarat soldiers had seen him run away. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, but he was the only person in the Menaphite Empire with pale skin. It would only be a matter of time before the authorities captured him.

When Farrah's acquaintance—the man who was going to train him—arrived, Avis knew that he now truly had no choice. He had to leave with him. If he stayed in Ullek, he would die, even if the city withstood the attack, which Avis was certain that it would. The force attacking from the southeast was powerful, but small. It had managed to burn the coastal towns, sure…but Ullek was no coastal town.

Avis, once he had put enough distance between himself and the city walls, released most of his hold on the winds. He entered a gradual descent, eventually landing atop a flat roof in one of the slums in Ullek's southern regions, where they were most prevalent.

Avis realized that he recognized his surroundings. He had landed in the same slum that Farrah's shop was located in. What were the odds?

The boy took a step forward, but his leg gave out and he collapsed, causing him to fall on his back. He frowned when he found he wasn't able to get back up from where he was lying. The world seemed to be whiting out as well, the colors becoming bleached. His hearing was also affected; everything sounded…distant…as if he were hearing the world from underwater.

That was when Avis remembered the pain he had felt when he had soared over the archers manning Ullek's wall. The pain had not gone away; Avis had simply ignored it because he could not afford to pay attention to it, not when he was over a hundred feet in the air. Now, he felt it completely, without inhibition. He also realized that he could barely breathe—it felt as if someone had put a pillow over his mouth.

The boy raised his head, looking down at his chest, where the pain was coming from. Sure enough, the feathered shaft of an arrow was protruding from his middle-right torso. It had missed his vest, which he always wore unbuttoned, and gone right through his unprotected flesh, definitely puncturing his right lung, which explained why he found it hard to breathe. The arrowhead and a good part of the shaft were still buried inside of him. Blood was running freely from the wound. Avis knew that if he didn't get help before he lost consciousness, he would bleed out.

Avis rolled over onto his side, careful to avoid hitting the arrow shaft, and pushed himself up to his knees. The boy shook his head again, temporarily staving off his passing out. He hobbled over to the edge of the roof and leaped off, using another burst of wind to cushion his landing. He then started sprinting down the cobbled street, his bare footfalls almost echoing off of the stone buildings. He had never worn boots or sandals for a long time.

When he started to slow down, Avis would propel himself forward with more wind. He would also use wind to keep himself upright, stopping himself from falling over or tripping. If he fell now, he wouldn't have the energy to get back up.

Avis turned down a back alleyway that ran through to the adjacent street. Avis knew that if he followed this road, eventually it ran into the street that Farrah's shop was on. This street twisted and turned several times before it actually reached the street Avis needed.

By the time Avis stumbled onto the correct road, he was out of breath and beginning to get delirious. He felt unconsciousness coming on fast, and there wasn't anything he could really do to stave it off anymore. His time was up.

There wasn't anyone else on the street to help him—this slum had been deserted for years. Avis kept on going as long as he could, but Farrah's shop was too far away. He wasn't going to make it on his own.

Avis stumbled past another back alley, but he lost his footing on a raised cobblestone and fell to his knees, and then went down on all fours. A drop of blood fell from his mouth and he tried crawling forward, but his strength was gone.

Suddenly, Avis felt a strong grip on his shoulders. Someone turned him over and swore, seeing the arrow lodged in his gut. Another voice joined the first one, a higher-pitched voice. A girl. Avis recognized the two voices, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. All he heard was noise…gibberish.

Avis tried to say something, but he stopped mid-sentence when he realized that he wasn't even talking. His mouth hadn't even moved.

The last thing he felt before darkness claimed him was someone touching his face and whispering, "It's going to be okay."

Farrah snipped off the feathered end of the arrow embedded in Avis's chest, tossing it into the porcelain basin he had set down next to the table which he had laid Avis out on. He had removed the pale-skinned boy's black cloth vest and made sure he was heavily sedated before proceeding.

"He gonna be alright?"

Farrah looked up at Jafa. It had been the sixteen-year-old who had spoken. He and Lessa had been doing God knows what out in the back alleys, but several minutes ago they had crashed back into the shop upstairs with Avis. The boy was unconscious with an arrow in his chest. Not a good combination. "Hard to say," the old Menaphite sighed, running two fingers through his long white beard. "The arrow went straight through his right lung…he has minor internal bleeding, but the blood is filling up his bronchial cavity-"

"In Arrish, please," Jafa rolled his eyes, not understanding a word of what Farrah had said.

"His lungs are filling up with blood, and if I can't patch up the tissue and stop the bleeding, he is going to die," Farrah laid it out plainly.

Lessa walked in a moment later, holding a tray with Farrah's surgical instruments, as well as a bowl of water. "I got what you asked for," the fifteen-year-old orphan girl said, setting the tray down on the table, right next to the porcelain basin. "Even the water…what do you need that for, anyway? I thought you're supposed to use alcohol for sterilization."

"You'll see," was all Farrah would say. He quickly crossed over to the other side of the room and rummaged through several the cabinets until he found the one full of bottles of rubbing alcohol. He grabbed one.

The old man returned to his makeshift operating table and grabbed a second bowl. He filled it with the rubbing alcohol, setting the bottle down next to it. Before he did anything else, he took the surgical instruments and sanitized them in the alcohol. If he did not do this, the germs on the instruments could cause potentially deadly infections. "Alright. Lessa, you're going to be helping me. Are your hands washed?"

"Mm-hm," the girl nodded.

"Good; we can start right away. We'll have to move fast; time is of the essence. The Gods have plans for him…he cannot die on this table…" Farrah took a deep breath, calmed himself down, and got to work. "Hand me the scalpel, please."

Lessa selected the wickedly-sharp, curved instrument and presented it to Farrah handle-first.

"Thank you…" Farrah murmured. He inserted the tip of the scalpel right at the point where the arrow had gone in, drawing it out several inches. He then placed the scalpel tip on the other side of the arrow shaft and repeated the same procedure, completing the incision. "Okay…rib spreaders," the old man requested next.

Lessa grabbed the instrument that looked like a capital 'F' and gave it to Farrah, taking back the scalpel.

Farrah took the rib spreaders. He also grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured a small amount of it around the incision, careful not to get any inside the cut. The alcohol cleared away the blood, which Lessa dabbed up with a towel.

"If you have a weak stomach, now's the time to look away," the old Menaphite warned Jafa and Lessa, but neither orphan moved. Farrah opened up the incision, gazing down at Avis's exposed ribcage and internal organs. Lessa and Jafa both blinked at the sight, but both still refused turned away, no matter how much they wanted to vomit.

Farrah clucked with the tip of his tongue. The arrow had gone right in between Avis's fourth and fifth ribs on his right side. Had it been the left side, it would have hit his heart. He wanted to probe further, but there was nothing he could do until he got those ribs out of his way, so he gently eased the rib spreaders into Avis's chest cavity, placing the two spreader arms in between the fourth and fifth ribs. He then turned the screw on the lower arm that moved it down the length of the spreader, away from the upper arm. This effectively spread the two ribs apart from each other, giving Farrah enough room to work. This also kept the incision open, so Farrah didn't have to constantly keep the skin held apart.

"Hold this," Farrah said to Jafa. The sixteen-year-old hurried over and grabbed hold of the rib spreaders, keeping them steady. The old man then took a long, thin rod of steel and probed around, seeing the full extent of the damage. He checked around the back of the right lung, seeing if the arrowhead had gone through the other side. It had. "That's good…" he murmured to himself.

"What's good?" Lessa asked, overhearing the old Menaphite.

"The arrowhead went all the way through the lung; it isn't stuck inside," the old man explained. "If it was, I would have to pull it out, which would cause even more damage."

"How do you get it out when it's all the way through, then?" Jafa asked.

Farrah did not immediately answer. Instead, he cast his eyes around the room, looking for something that would make the next step in the operation work. "Lessa, can you drag that table over here?" the old man asked the girl, gesturing to the next table over with his head.

Lessa quickly left her station and pulled the table over, as requested.

"Okay, I'm going to move Avinius a little bit…" Farrah murmured. "Whatever you do, don't move him too quickly. Jafa, keep hold of those spreaders."

With that, Farrah and Lessa eased Avis around and off the edge of the table he was lying on. They slowly, gently pulled him over and placed his head and shoulders on the second table, so the part of his chest with the wound was over the open space.

"Okay…okay, Jafa, I need you to do a job for me," Farrah said.

"Anything."

"Lessa, grab the spreaders for him," Farrah ordered. Lessa took over Jafa's job, giving Farrah a thumbs-up once she had a firm hold on the rib spreaders. "Okay, Jafa, I'm going to tell you how we're going to get the arrow out. It's going to be done the exact same way a fisherman removes a fishhook. I'm going to push it down through his back, and you are going to cut off the arrowhead."

"You're joking."

"I'm not going to be shoving it through," Farrah clarified. "I'm gently easing it through the skin of his back. There is no muscle tissue that I will be damaging that has not already been hit; just skin, which will heal in a matter of days. This is medicine, my friend."

"Alright…" Jafa worked his jaw around, like he wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come out. "Alright, fine, I'll do it…damn it all; this kid's gonna owe me big for this…" Jafa pulled out his dagger and lay down on the floor between the two tables, right under Avis's back.

Farrah grasped the arrow shaft and, with the ease and patience of a craftsman micro-detailing a sculpture, began to ease it downwards. He heard blood dripping onto the floor below and knew that he had broken through the skin, but he kept on going. "Tell me when it's far enough," the old man called down to Jafa.

"Right, whatever you say," Jafa mumbled, moving his head so that the blood didn't hit him.

Farrah pushed the shaft down another few inches before Jafa told him to stop. The sixteen-year-old pressed his knife to the arrow shaft and sliced off the arrowhead, catching it as it fell and handing it up to Farrah. "It's done," he said.

"Excellent…" Farrah murmured. Now, without the arrowhead, the old man was able to easily pull the shaft out of Avis's body. With that done, he cleaned the hole in Avis's back with the rubbing alcohol and smeared a sealing salve onto it which would accelerate its healing as well as repel infection.

That done, the old man moved Avis back onto the first table and resumed his operation. "Alright…now it gets a tad bit messy…" he murmured. He reached into his robe and pulled out a smooth, light gray stone that seemed to glow with a faint blue aura. On it was an etched symbol of a water drop.

"Is that a…a runestone?" Lessa asked, gazing at the stone in wonder.

Farrah didn't answer. He dipped his hand into the bowl of water and the stone started glowing a soft blue. As it did this, the water wrapped around Farrah's hand like a glove.

"You're a…you're a mage…" Jafa breathed, pretty much stating the obvious.

Farrah gently reached into Avis's chest and, with the utmost care, cupped the pierced, blood-filled right lung. The water actually started to shine, sparkling white and cyan, as if the sun were shining through it.

Avis convulsed, his back arching into the air.

"Hold him!" Farrah shouted. This was the most delicate part of the healing process; if it got messed up now, there was no going back.

Jafa got up onto the table and pressed his knees down onto Avis's shoulders, pinning him back down onto the table. He used his hands to press down on the pale-skinned boy's arms, sufficiently immobilizing him enough for Farrah's satisfaction.

Farrah continued what he was doing. After a minute, Avis's whole lung was enveloped in Farrah's water. The old man's eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed in concentration as he focused his energy. The water enveloping Avis's lung grew brighter and brighter with each passing second until the lung looked as if it were covered by a film of pure light.

Jafa tried to look, but the light grew so bright that he had to avert his eyes.

Then Farrah finished, and the light faded away. The water returned to Farrah's hand, which the old man pulled out of Avis's chest cavity, allowing the water and blood to cascade off of his fingers and into the bowl. "I'd rather not do that again for a very long time…" the old man murmured.

The lung was completely healed when Farrah pulled away. It looked as if it had never been hit by an arrow at all—there wasn't even a blemish on the tissue. All of the blood vessels had also been repaired; the bleeding had gone down considerably. Avis had also stopped trying to seize up, so Jafa was able to get back down off of the table.

"Alright, Lessa, I'll take over here," Farrah grabbed hold of the rib spreaders, allowing Lessa to step away before taking full control. He cranked the screw of the retractors and moved the two spreader arms back together, allowing Avis's fourth and fifth ribs to settle back into their original positions.

Farrah then spent the next half hour sewing the incision shut with Kalphite spider-silk thread. Once he was finished, he tied the thread off, snipped it with a knife, and sterilized the wound one last time with the alcohol.

"You were a mage this whole time?" Jafa said as Farrah cleaned up the last traces of his work on Avis. "I've known you for most of my life, and you were a mage the entire time?"

"Retired," the old man shrugged. "I fought with the Temple Knights once upon a time, back when I was a youth. Turned out I had an aptitude for magic… I'm not the strongest mage you'll ever meet, but I can hold my own in battle. I specialize in healing, however. The element of Water is my Oléthe, my natural element…the healing element."

"If you're so good at healing, why didn't you just heal the entire wound, rather than only the lung?" Lessa asked.

"It takes energy to do what I just did," Farrah explained. "Instantly healing all those layers of tissue, as well as the blood vessels with nothing but pure energy can take it out of you. And besides…sometimes it's better to allow nature to run its course. I used magic to save his life…now his body will do the rest. It is better that way."

"Still can't believe you never told us any of this…" Jafa muttered, unwilling to let his disbelief go.

"There was no point," Farrah shrugged again. "Whenever you were hurt, I healed you, though you never knew it. That was enough. In this day and age, the less people who know you are a mage, the better. Now, if you'll excuse me…I have somewhere I need to be. Wait an hour, then move Avinius into a bed, would you?"

Farrah climbed up the stairs into his shop and walked out into the street, breathing in the fresh air. Even if he did not need to be somewhere right now, he would have come outside anyway. He was thankful that he had never had to cut into human bodies very often. He had only done so as a last resort…having an arrow through a lung was definitely a last-resort situation, but still…Farrah never felt comfortable probing around inside another person's body. It was a place he felt he did not belong.

The old Menaphite pulled his Badb pipe out of his robes and lit it with a flint striker. Puffing on his pipe, the old man made his way down the street and out of the slum.

The sun was going down, bathing the city in a shower of rich, amber light. It seemed so beautiful to Farrah…probably because the old man knew that this was likely one of the last times Ullek would ever experience a sunset.

Farrah avoided the Plaza and the other more populated points in the city, keeping to the back roads. After nearly an hour of walking, he neared the city's north wall. He was relieved to see that the Qarat had not yet locked this part of the wall down—civilians could still ascend it.

The old Menaphite found a ladder on a more out-of-the-way section of the northern city wall and climbed all the way up to the top. The city walls were at least a hundred feet tall, so the climb was a somewhat longer one than normal. Farrah was not as frail as he looked, though. He managed just fine.

Farrah smoothed down his beard as he climbed on top of the wall, patting down stray hairs. Then, still puffing on his Badb pipe, he strolled along the battlements until he reached a tall, golden statue of Tumeken, the Desert God of the Sun. This was his proposed meeting point. All he had to do was wait.

The old man leaned against the battlements, smoking his pipe and looking out over the small forest to the north of the city. There was swampland hidden under those trees, which were able to exist out here because of the proximity to the coast. Underground rivers ran through that area, irrigating the place and allowing a forest to grow.

This was good for Ullek, too; it gave the city water, as well as wood, which served as one of the most important items of trade that kept the city's economy strong.

Not that it would matter much longer. Farrah knew that those monsters attacking from the south were not the whole threat. They were barely even a fraction. They were a distraction…something to keep the Qarat busy.

There was something else out there, something else that was coming. Farrah could feel it in his core. It wasn't a question of who or what…only when. Farrah had a terrible feeling that Ullek was about to come to an end. The Qarat was a good fighting force, but they were not organized like the Centralian Legions. If attacked by a large enough force of monsters, they would easily crumble.

There was no one to help them, either. Uzer was having problems of its own up north. Farrah had heard rumors of Centralian legions fighting in the Empire as well, but they were up north of the Shantay Pass, well out of reach. No…in this fight, Ullek was alone.

Farrah felt a rustle of wind behind him, prompting the old man to turn around.

A man appeared over the inner edge of the wall, seemingly rising of his own accord. Farrah glanced down and saw that the other man was standing on a carpet, which was rising through the air until it was flush with the battlements, at which point the other man stepped off.

The other man was an older gentleman. Not as old as Farrah, but not too far behind. He was dressed in a black traveler's cloak and was wearing a leather cowl that obscured most of his face. He had a dagger in his belt and was leaning on a gnarly wooden staff with an orb at the top that seemed to glow many colors at once. Just as he stepped off of the carpet, the older man reached up and pushed back his cowl, revealing a lightly-lined face with its fair share of scars, stormy gray eyes, a fringe of dark gray hair, and a straight nose. He also had bristly, closely-trimmed facial hair around his mouth and chin. At first glance, he looked like a grandfather who still had the look of youth, despite his mostly bald head and gray hair.

At second glance, he looked like a man on a mission who looked more than ready to use the weapons which he was armed with.

To Farrah, he looked like another one of his old friends from his youth. The old Menaphite smiled; this was the man whom Saradomin had said he would send for Avis.

"It's been a long time, Jerrod," Farrah clasped his old friend's arm, grasping him in a tight embrace.

Jerrod reciprocated the hug, then let go. "Too long, Farrah," the Cleric grinned. The smile seemed forced, however. Farrah noticed this.

"What is the matter, old friend?"

Jerrod fixed Farrah with the gaze of a man who has seen something terrible. "I…uh…on my way here, I passed a few things…and one huge thing…let me show you-"

Jerrod closed his eyes and placed his palm against Farrah's forehead. The old Menaphite closed his eyes as well. In his mind's eye, he saw the desert flying by faster than the eagle flies. He knew that he was seeing into Jerrod's memories. The Cleric wanted him to see something he had seen.

It was an army. A horde…thousands, hundreds of thousands of monsters, all marching in a single, massive, colossal group. At their head was a coal-black demon which towered over everything else. It had three faces—one in front, and the other two on either side of its head. All of the faces were identical, except for the eyes. The center face had yellow eyes, the right face had red eyes, and the left face had green eyes. It wielded a blade of dark metal which seemed to whisper its thirst for blood.

Farrah's eyes snapped open. The old Menaphite realized that he had broken out into a cold sweat, still trembling at the sight of the horde. "Was that…" Farrah gulped, "Was that-"

"Balfrug-Kreeyath the three-faced demon, leader of the horde sent to raze Ullek and capture the boy, second-in-command to the elder-demon Thammaron himself?" Jerrod finished the question for the old Menaphite. "Yeah, that's probably him. It was the three faces that gave it away for me, personally; don't know about you."

Farrah shook his head, not knowing how Jerrod could find humor in a time like this. "How far away are they?"

"They're on the other side of the hill beyond the forest," Jerrod replied grimly. "You can hear them marching if you listen carefully. Give it ten minutes; you'll see them plain as day, coming right towards this place."

"We must alert the Qarat-"

"What we must do," Jerrod corrected his old friend, "is get the boy out of this city. Whether the Qarat see this horde coming or not makes no difference. Ullek is finished. You already know this. What you need to do is get all your friends, and get the hell out of this place. Flee to Sophanem in the south."

"And what of you? How will you get away? You cannot teleport in the Desert; Zamorak has made this impossible."

"Take me to the boy," Jerrod replied. "Once I'm with him…I'll play the rest by ear."

"Play by ear?" Farrah echoed, shaking his head and mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "Saradomin help us, Jerrod; you haven't changed a bit."

"Believe me," Jerrod clapped his old friend on the shoulder. "That's a good thing."