Chapter Two: Field Trip Home
"Gods above…" Athellenas, Senior Warmaster of the Centralian Army, whispered as he walked down the ruined streets of Uzer.
The capital of what had used to be the Menaphite Empire had been completely leveled. When Thammaron's hordes had invaded, they had plundered and burned the city…but when the legions of the Centralian Army's 1st Element had broken down the walls and allowed Azzanadra into the city, the Zarosian Mahjarrat had completely destroyed the place.
Not that the former inhabitants of the city would mind; they were all dead. Well, dead or far away. The Menaphites who had survived Thammaron's brutal sweep were making their way towards Sophanem in the south, their one remaining city and refuge. Thammaron's splinter hordes had been unable to make it that far south.
And though the city had been destroyed, the countless thousands of monsters that had been entrenched inside of it had also been killed. Azzanadra had single-handedly wiped out Thammaron's entire army, effectively ending Zamorak's campaign in the desert.
Not that it mattered. The Menaphite Empire had still been virtually destroyed.
"Have I ever mentioned how glad I am not to be fighting against that…that thing?" General Sinclair murmured, surveying the carnage and destruction.
"Mind your tongue, general," Athellenas warned the IV Legion commander. "The Mahjarrat may not take too kindly to being called a 'thing'."
Paladin Anesti hummed in agreement. The Paladin had had a rough day. During the attack on the walls of Uzer, when Sir Brezhnov had been trying to destroy the gate with the long-range mortar cannon, Thammaron had tried to destroy it with lightning. The Paladin had used himself as a human shield to redirect that lightning. As a result, he still sported myriad scars and burns from the feat.
"I must say, Warmaster…you did your job rather well."
Athellenas did not need to turn around to see that it was Azzanadra who had spoken. "Mahjarrat," the Warmaster turned on his heel, not even bothering to wonder how Azzanadra had gotten behind them without his noticing.
Azzanadra had returned to his human form of a bearded, red-haired traveler. It was much less unsettling than the skull-headed Lich he had turned into when he attacked Uzer.
The Zarosian Mahjarrat inhaled through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. "I have not had a fight like this since Zamorak's rebellion…this felt good…"
Sir Derren didn't hesitate to ask the question everyone wanted to ask: "Is Thammaron-"
"Dead? Of course; do you think of me as an incompetent?" Azzanadra frowned. "To be fair, he actually put up a halfway decent fight for about a minute or so…" the Mahjarrat shrugged. "Ah well…I do not think I shall get another even fight until I cross one of my traitor brethren."
"So…what now?" Sir Derren asked.
"That is up to you," Azzanadra replied with a shrug. "My task is finished. Thammaron's hordes are destroyed. I expect you and your men shall be heading wherever the Pretender God decides to attack next. Until our destinies cross once more, Warmaster," the Zarosian Mahjarrat nodded to Athellenas.
There was a flash of indigo light, and when Athellenas looked back up, the Mahjarrat was gone.
Athellenas turned around and, without another word, set off back towards the ruined gate of Uzer. Finding Azzanadra and confirming the death of Thammaron had been the only reason he had ventured forth. Time to go back.
For the next hour, the Warmaster oversaw the stability of his 1st Element. A lot of good men had died in that last assault; they needed a central leader to keep from collapsing. They probably would have been fine without one, but having one certainly helped.
After inspecting the field hospitals—and keeping his stomach after looking at some of the horrors inflicted upon the wounded—he was approached by Paladin Anesti.
"Have you sufficiently attended to the legions?" the Paladin asked. "I have orders to return you to Tethys for a meeting with the King."
"How do you propose we do that?" Athellenas asked the Paladin. "We can't teleport in the desert."
"We can now," Anesti corrected the Warmaster. "I found that I was able to after Thammaron was killed. Zamorak must have lifted the block."
"Alright, then…" Athellenas nodded. "Sir Derren can handle things for a little while, I suppose."
"Good thing, because I already told him you were leaving," the Paladin extended a hand. "So, if you wouldn't mind…?"
Athellenas decided to save being irritated at the Paladin for bypassing his authority later, opting instead to simply roll with it. He grasped Anesti's hand. "Go."
The Warmaster squeezed his eyes shut. His friend Jerrod always complained of nausea every time he teleported. Athellenas never felt like he was going to throw up when teleporting, though; he got headaches instead.
There was a flash of purple light, and Athellenas went through the extremely uncomfortable feeling of being squeezed through a tiny hole, then sucked down a vortex before finally getting spat out the other end. Naturally, that was not how teleportation worked; it was merely the way humans perceived the experience.
Athellenas noticed the change even before he opened his eyes. The blistering heat of the desert that he had grown so used to was gone, replaced by a cool breath of wind.
The Warmaster opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. He had materialized in the middle of the Square; the central nexus of Tethys. The Centralian capital city was the same as Athellenas remembered it. The cobblestones of the square sparkled in the sunlight. Merchants crowded around the space, selling their wares and trading with customers.
The sudden arrival of the Warmaster seemed to incite a limited amount of interest. Mages suddenly materializing in the middle of the square was not a particularly uncommon sight, but seeing a Paladin of Saradomin arrive with the Senior Warmaster was sufficient enough to momentarily disrupt the monotony of city life.
Many of the citizens offered respectful salutes or nods to the Warmaster, which Athellenas returned as much as he could. He wished he had Onyx here with him, but he didn't, so he ended up making his way up the Boulevard and towards the Royal Compound on foot, accompanied by the Paladin. Though Anesti was behind him the whole time, the Paladin didn't speak.
The Old Guard sentries who were stationed at the gate crossed their pikes, asking for Athellenas's name and purpose.
Athellenas gave them his name and titles, finishing by stating that he was here at the request of the King himself. Then an Old Guard officer shouted down from the walls to open the gates for the Warmaster, so the sentries needed no further questioning.
Athellenas strode through the opened gates and into the Royal Compound. He kept walking down the cobbled path in the center, passing by the Forum and the other structures before ascending the entrance steps to the palace.
The Warmaster passed by several more groups of Old Guardsmen, but he had passed the gate and his face was well-known among members of the military, so he wasn't challenged again.
The Warmaster walked through two sets of doors and into the throne room, but the King's throne was empty. No matter; Athellenas knew precisely where King Osman would be at this time of day.
The Warmaster and the Paladin both walked down the length of the throne room. Athellenas walked up to the oak door set into the wall behind the throne, giving it a sharp knock.
"Come," a familiar young voice said from the other side.
Athellenas pushed open the door, walking into King Osman's study. Upon seeing the King, the Warmaster removed his helmet, allowing his mane of silver hair to fall to his shoulders. He got down on one knee and bowed his head. "My liege," he said.
King Osman looked nothing like a King right now. He was not dressed in any of the fancy robes or opulent attire one would expect from a monarch. Truth be told, he never wore anything like that, except for formal ceremonies. He had a crown, but he never wore it unless he was addressing other people throughout the kingdom or granting audience to citizens. Right now, he was dressed in a simple cloth shirt and pants, leather shoes, and a dark vest.
Athellenas knew Osman had an interesting childhood. His father had died when he was fifteen, making him the new King of Centralia at a young age. Now, he was eighteen, but on the inside he acted like a forty-year-old man. It was amazing what having the weight of a kingdom on one's shoulders could do to a man. It could force a person to act like someone twice his age…and it had with Osman.
"Let us dispense with the formalities, Athellenas," King Osman waved for the Warmaster to get up, exchanging a quick nod with the Paladin. Anesti hadn't bowed because, as a Paladin of the Church of Saradomin, he was technically not answerable to the Centralian government. He answered to the Priori on Entrana. After he had finished the greeting, he excused himself and waited outside, closing the door behind him.
"Very well," Athellenas straightened up and settled his bulky frame into one of the chairs set in front of King Osman's desk.
"I've been hearing some good things from the east…and some very bad things…" the King said. "Before I go into detail, I would like your report on the status of the Menaphite Empire. Were you able to prevent Uzer from falling?"
"Far from it, sire," Athellenas grumbled. "Thammaron…he was just too fast for us. We got caught up at Shantay Pass, and by the time we caught up to his hordes…they had already sacked Uzer. The Menaphite Empire is gone."
King Osman nodded, confirming his suspicions. "I had thought as much," the Centralian monarch murmured. "I have lost all contact with their Pharaoh…this is indeed disastrous news…but I presume Thammaron has been defeated?"
"Thammaron and his armies are all gone," Athellenas nodded. The Warmaster proceeded to explain his deal with the Zarosian Mahjarrat Azzanadra that eventually resulted in his breaching the walls of Uzer and Azzanadra's destruction of the rest of the entire city.
"I am not going to question your judgment in allying with the champion of Zaros…clearly, it got the job done…" King Osman sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Things simply seem to have been quite hectic in the desert as of late, quite hectic indeed. I do not know if you have been receiving any news from the Hallowlands, lately."
"No, I have not," Athellenas shook his head. "Why? What has happened?"
King Osman lifted his head and rested back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Are you familiar with the name 'Drakan'?"
"Drakan?" Athellenas's other eyebrow slid up the length of his forehead. "Drakan as in Lowerniel Vergidiyad Drakan, de facto leader and overlord of all the vampyre clans?"
"You do know of him, then."
Athellenas nodded grimly. "I'm sure you are familiar with Jerrod the Lightbringer? At least, that used to be what he was called."
It was Osman's turn to nod. "He vanished ten years ago, did he not?"
"I traveled with him in my youth," Athellenas explained, not answering the King's last question. "Back when we both had black hair, we put several of Drakan's friends permanently out of business. I've still got a few scars from them; they put up a reasonable fight. We tried taking out Drakan himself as well…" Athellenas's voice trailed off and the Warmaster gave a hapless shrug. "Well, you can't have everything, eh?"
"Indeed," the King hummed in agreement. "My point is that Lord Drakan is back. I don't know where he crawled off to these past few decades, but he's back. Something is happening in the Hallowlands. Commerce with the Iceyene has all but stopped, our contact with them is slipping…and their Queen has been sending me reports of increasing urgency for the past month, practically begging me to send military aid."
"And did you?"
King Osman shook his head. "All of my available armed forces were in the desert, fighting under you. I had no aid to send."
"You mean the Forum still refuses to issue a Declaration of War?" Athellenas nearly exploded. "After all the shit—pardon my language—my men and I have waded through in the desert, after all the boys who have met their ends at the hands of Zamorak's filth, those bastards who call themselves Consuls still refuse to pull their heads out of their-"
"Peace, Warmaster," King Osman held up his hand. "That was the case until two days ago. Two days ago, I was able to…persuade the Consuls to grant me emergency wartime powers. Don't ask how I managed to do this, because I will not tell you. What I will tell you instead is that I have sent out dispatches to all of the provinces. Within the next two weeks, the entire Centralian Army shall be mobilized."
"And what of my men in the desert?" Athellenas asked next.
"The problem in the Menaphite Empire has been resolved, one way or another," the King sighed. "Zamorak no longer occupies the desert. I believe Zamorak is developing a new strategy that he has not used before. In the past, he would boil out of the Wilderness and try to burn his way into Tethys…but every single time we managed to stop him. Now…he seems to be knocking down everyone else first. He has destroyed the Menaphite armies, and now he is moving on the Iceyene. The Elves and dwarves have retreated to their realms and sealed their borders; if the Hallowlands fall…we will be very much alone."
"What of the Anuido?"
King Osman shrugged. "I have sent Lord Fernando across the eastern oceans to the Anuido people's homelands…I don't know what to expect, though. The Sun Emperor is a difficult man to predict. I can only hope he will help us when the time comes."
"So you intend to send us into the Hallowlands to assist the Iceyene?"
"Yes," King Osman rose from his chair. "I have sent elements of the Navy around the south of the Desert. In a day or so they should reach your men's location. Your men will board that fleet and sail north to the western shores of the Hallowlands. By the time you return, the entire army shall have been mobilized."
"Sounds simple enough," Athellenas grunted. "I wasn't able to kill Drakan the last time around…but maybe with twelve-thousand soldiers I could do something."