Chapter 5 - The Twin Wings
The Hollow Mountain was less of a military base, and more of an underground refugee camp.
The complex was enormous, a mountain hollowed out - Access tunnels extending well downslope, to concealed caves. Some of the caverns had been natural, water channels eroded by centuries of drainage from the snowcapped peaks above. Through what must have been decades of secret outfit, the inhabited caverns had been artificially enlarged and smoothed.
Without machinery, without excavation equipment, I'd have thought that an effort like this would have been impossible...But I was forgetting magic. Priests had shaped stone - Not just the passages, but also the furniture - enough that many of the smaller chambers had pallet beds, tables and benches of stone that grew like cave features from the ground.
It would have been relatively comfortable, if it wasn't so crowded. There were hundreds - hundreds - of refugees cramming the caverns and tunnels and caves, with more trickling in every day. The sick, the wounded, the very old and the very young; a place meant to be an army's last-ditch fortress was now holding far more people than had ever been accounted for.
More than it could possibly hope to sustain.
It was a miracle that there hadn't been an outbreak of disease. That there was still sanitation of any kind. The largest caverns had already been given over to accommodate the flood of people, but there was little room to move and food was already running low, despite the heroic efforts of the priests and the Paladins.
I would later learn that many refugees were being evacuated to the safety of the Southern Holy Kingdom, with new spaces being cleared under the forest canopy. But even this half-measure only stemmed the tide; They had to avoid thinning the forests so much that the Hollow Mountain's location would be revealed, and a run for the southern border was an exceptionally dangerous affair.
Some groups had simply vanished, swallowed up on the way. Others had surely been recaptured by marauding raiding parties of demi-humans, dragged back to the fate they'd hoped to escape.
The worst part, I think, was that the Liberation Army knew this. The paladins, priests and armsmen would have endured any privation, if it meant the salvation of their people...But it didn't. If they didn't have the food, the water, the rest they needed, all of this would be for nothing.
The Holy King knew the suffering of his people, and there was little he could do to help them. In a conventional war, things would have been different. But here, the cause of all their problems could be summed up in two words:
The Prophet.
The architect of all this.
When I'd awoken, for good this time, another bowl of corn gruel and a disc of flatbread had been set by the side of my bed. I had enough time to devour it, to wash myself from the stone basin of water - shudderingly cold - set in the small alcove of the lavatory, before I'd struggled into my armor.
It was a more complex process than you might think. After all, while I'd come into this world wearing it, I knew nothing else about it. But my fingers had moved to the clasps, the fastenings, as if it was second nature, and I'd been buckling on the greaves by the time I heard the knock at the door.
More subliminal programming. Another legacy from Yggdrasil.
I was beginning to wonder what else might have been implanted - seeded - into my mind.
There was something familiar about the novice who'd been sent to escort me to the strategy chamber. What it was, I couldn't quite place; she was younger than me, significantly so, with short, straw-blonde hair and beady black eyes - It felt like she was constantly glaring at me, as we made our way along the winding passageways.
"Is there…" I began, and that glare swung towards me. "Never mind," I said, a heartbeat later. Somehow, I resisted the urge to say: Whatever it was, I'm truly sorry.
I was still puzzling it out when we arrived at our destination.
"Please, go on in," she said, gesturing to the door, and I nodded. "Thank you," I said, but she spitted me on that glare anyway. I was just about to ask what I'd done to give offense, before someone called out a "Squire Baraja!" and she scurried away without a glance back.
Baraja…? I thought - Isn't that…?
No, it was gone. I shook my head, and stepped into the room beyond.
The strategic chamber was a makeshift affair. It held the few articles of wooden furniture, a table - shaped from stone - dominating the vast space. On it was a map - Rich black ink creating hills and mountains with mere brushstrokes, enigmatic names marking cities and fortresses and towns. I felt a mild surprise that I could read them at all; the names meant nothing to me, but it was heartening to know that I wasn't functionally illiterate.
Hard-faced men and women stood around it, and they all looked up when I entered.
That was the first thing I noticed. They were all looking at me.
I could feel the pressure of their gazes - not hostile, but wondering, measuring, contemplative - all at once. There was expectation in those looks, a weight so palpable I could actually feel it. Enough that I felt my back stiffen instinctively, wondering - stupidly - if there was something on my face…
"Sir Samuel," Prince Caspond said. "-Be welcome."
He was still in the robes I'd seen in him last night, the simple blue-and-white ones that had made me mistake him for a healer. His presence, however, was unmistakable; It was impossible to miss how all in the room deferred to him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I felt my face burn, as I made to bow - Almost tripping over the Interfector. "Your Majesty-"
He held up a hand. "Please, there's no need to stand on ceremony. Commander Remedios, if you would be so kind?"
It took me a moment to recognize Remedios; In a new suit of armor, her helmet tucked under her arm, she looked renewed. Calmer, somehow - Still grave, but relieved. It was as if some great burden had been lifted from her shoulders, allowing her to focus on the here and now.
Her gaze met mine for the fraction of a second, and she nodded.
"The Great Wall is lost," she said, simply. Someone, somewhere, groaned.
Caspar's eyes closed, for a moment. "Thank you, Commander," he said. "I appreciate the brevity of your statement. But, if you'd care to go into detail…?"
Remedios' brow furrowed, ever-so-slightly. Like a spasm of half-remembered pain, passing across her features. She drew a slight breath, as she pressed a gauntleted finger to the map.
"As you know, ever since the demihumans breached the Great Wall, there has been no stemming the tide from the Abelion Hills. The beastfolk tribes have invaded, in their totality - Kalinsha, Rimun and Prart have all been occupied. The majority of their forces are massing at the border; It's clear that they're preparing a staging ground for the invasion of the South-"
"How many?" This from a tall, severe-looking man, his features pale and drawn. He was frowning fiercely, his ring-bedecked fingers stroking his chin.
Remedios spared him a glance. "More than a hundred thousand, Count Randalse," she said. "I cannot overstate the magnitude of the enemy. And those were only the ones I could see."
A terrible silence loomed.
"Preposterous!" A middle-aged graybeard now, in the blue-and-white cassock of the priests. "At full muster, we raise barely half of that! How could the subhumans conceivably field a hundred thousand troops?"
The Paladin gave him a sharp look. "I repeat only what I saw, Father Ciriaco," she said. "Do you doubt me?" There was a general hubbub and murmuring, at her words - I knew, instinctively, that Remedios was telling the truth.
"Peace, Ciriaco," Caspond said. His blue eyes fixed on Remedios, across the central table. "Your recommendations, Commander?"
She hesitated beneath the royal regard, for the fraction of a second. "I-" she began.
With pitch-perfect timing, the doors opened again. This time, the commotion that arose was twice as loud, entirely unfeigned. Kelart Custodio - flanked by Pavel and Gustav (his arm in a sling) - strode into the chamber.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing from the waist. Pavel and Gustav saluted, the former naturally grimacing, the latter a little more clumsy. Kelart's eyes went to me - just for a moment - and moved on, her brown tresses swaying in time to the slight motion.
Count Randalse's eyes widened, as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Lady Kelart," he said, cautiously. "You look...well."
"By the will of the Four Great Gods, I survived," she said, smoothly. "That, and the heroic efforts of Commander Remedios and Sir Samuel, of course."
Faces turned back to crane at us. There was a flutter of applause.
Caspar began clapping, a measured sound. "Better than that," he said. "They deserve better than that!" A huge, growing peal of clapping rose to the roof of the chamber. I took it with an embarrassed nod, wondering if I was supposed to genuflect - I glanced at Remedios, then Kelart, and saw that both were smiling.
But Remedios' smile was a genuine one, if small.
Kelart's was a blade.
When the applause died away, Kelart took her place at the table, next to her sister. "Their numbers, while substantial, are not the issue," she said, as soon as the last flutter had faded. "Two nights ago, we proved the old truism: A soldier of the Holy Kingdom is worth any ten of the subhumans."
A murmur of agreement. Nods, all around. Gustav merely rubbed at his cheek with his remaining hand, and looked uncomfortable.
She looked down, as if in thought - Glossy brown tresses framing her features. "If it was merely the subhumans, there would be no question of retaking our land. Shall I be frank? Our concern is the Shrouded Prophet."
The Prophet. I'd heard the name before.
I would hear it again, soon.
Kelart rested her hands on the edge of the table, leaning forward.
"The beastfolk tribes have never been united, not truly, before this. But they could have thrown twice that number at the Great Wall, and we would still have held it. It was the Prophet's magic that brought the Wall down, not force of arms."
Ciriaco cleared his throat. Stroked his beard, delicately.
"If I may ask - What kind of magic…?"
She looked him in the eye. "Nothing less than tier-nine."
Consternation. That murmur rose again, more darkly now.
I started. I couldn't help myself. "Tier nine?" I murmured - That was a Yggdrasil term. It was the strangest thing to latch onto, a fragment of familiarity amid the new world I'd been plunged into.
My outburst had been noticed. One or two of the assembled paladins gave me odd looks.
A hand settled on my shoulder, and I tensed, half-turning. "Easy, lad." Pavel said. "Let Lady Kelart work."
She brushed a stray tress of hair back over one shoulder, went on - "The Holy Queen bid us to confront this 'Prophet', to bring an end to the incursion. But when we did…"
Her voice trailed off. For a long, long moment she was silent. Her head bowed, searching for the words. "Suffice to say - The Shrouded Prophet is no myth, no charlatan. His power is…" A moment's hesitation. "...is very real. I doubt Archwizard Fluder of the Empire is his equal."
That terrible silence again, bleak and unyielding.
Kelart glanced at Remedios, her sister's expression decidedly grim. "When the Wall fell, the Holy Queen commanded that we withdraw. But in the confusion, we were...taken."
Her gaze met mine, from across the room. Instinctively, one hand rose to rub at her shoulder, at her new arm. This entire time, she'd put up a brave front - But looking closer, I could see the effort of will it took her to stand there, perfectly still except for the faint tremor to her arm. She'd been limping slightly, so slightly I had barely noticed it; It didn't matter that the damage had been undone. Trauma like that leaves a scar on the soul.
"As I have said - By the grace of the Four Gods, we were delivered from the camps. My lords, your Majesty; Heed my words. What we saw within...This is more than the usual subhuman cruelty. This is an engine of sacrifice. Our people are being systematically devoured, sacrificed…"
Kelart's voice caught. "-This isn't mere butchery. There's a purpose to this...measured extermination."
Now Gustav wasn't the only one looking ill. Count Randalse looked like he'd have preferred to be somewhere else, anywhere else, but - like a man appearing at the aftermath of a tragedy - he had to ask:
"What kind of...purpose?"
The words sounded like they stuck in his throat.
"I...believe I may be able to answer that," Father Ciriaco said. The old priest looked like he'd aged a dozen years in the past half-hour. Frail, as if light could shine right through his papery skin. "High Priestess Kelart, with your leave…?"
Kelart nodded, coolly. He cleared his throat - "My Lords, Prince Caspar...There is a power in sacrifice. As you know, the Gods reward those who offer up their wealth, their treasures, the finest of their flocks…" Ciriaco looked like he was about to topple, his eyes pink and watery.
"But - the Gods are not the only ones who seek sacrifice. Anguish, terror, and despair...Certain, mmmmm, powers desire such things. Pain, death, misery...It is widely hypothesized that the, ah, demi-human pantheon, red in tooth and claw, desires such things-"
"Demons," Caspond said. "You mean, demons."
A stir, amid the crowd. More than one grizzled campaigner looked grim enough to chew rocks.
"Insanity," Count Randalse breathed. "What kind of war are we fighting? This Prophet...is he a demon himself? All those lives-"
"The subhumans hate all that is wholesome and good," Kelart said, sharply. "They seek the genocide of our people. Or, failing that, using their souls for their foul rituals. Do you see the need for the Southern Holy Kingdom's support, now? Is the extermination of millions of people sufficient to bestir you? Or is the threat of an army of demons lead by the Shrouded Prophet required?"
He went red. Then purple. "Why, you-"
"Lady Kelart!" Caspond's voice rang out like a rifle shot. "You overstep."
"Your Majesty," she said, and bowed, stiffly. Caspond looked to the Count, his face set in a sombre mask. "Count Randalse. I know that the North and South have long had their differences." He grimaced, lightly. "More, I know Queen Calca's appointment as monarch was...a contentious decision. But now, more than ever, unity is important. We must stand together against this threat, or fall separately."
"My King," Randalse said. He looked like a man being increasingly put on the spot, but he forged on - I had to respect the courage of his convictions, at least. "I...I cannot speak for the rest of the Southern Noble Alliance, but-"
A flicker of hesitation. "I give you my word that I will do all I can to summon their aid. Except-"
A deep breath. "Until I can speak with them in person, make them see what has befallen the North...I fear they will take no action. Here, there is little I can do - I must make contact with the Southern lords and nobility, impress upon them the threat we face, before any aid will be forthcoming."
He was sweating freely, now. His face had gone the color of liver.
Prince Caspond considered this. A moment after, he said - "Sergeant Pavel."
At my side, Pavel stiffened - Clearly, he wasn't used to being addressed directly by royalty. "My Prin...Your Majesty!"
"Could you escort Count Randalse and his retinue across the Southern border?"
Now it was Pavel's turn to sweat. But I could tell this was his area of expertise, those killer's eyes going distant as he rubbed at his chin. "Your Majesty...I wouldn't recommend it. If you'd pardon my coarse language - It's an absolute bloody shambles. The beastmen...They live for tracking prey. Some of the refugees have made a run for the border, but…"
"But there is a chance of success?" Randalse cut in.
"One in three," Pavel said. "At best. The beastmen...Sometimes, they don't bother to take escapees back to the camps, if you know what I mean. They get hungry, your Lordship, and they like their meat fresh-"
My stomach turned. I knew what he was talking about. Everyone in the room did.
"Thank you, Sergeant Pavel," Caspond said, firmly. "Count Randalse, forgive the imposition. But I cannot allow you to gamble your life on such odds."
Relief blossomed across Randalse's features. I didn't blame him. He wiped at his brow, sweat streaming despite the cool of the cavern.
"I am grateful, your Majesty."
"Lady Kelart, Commander Remedios - Your thoughts?"
This time, it was Remedios who spoke. "We need a port," she said, simply. "The city of Loyts borders the coast. It may be small - less than twenty thousand souls - but if it could be captured...The boatyards and docks should still be standing. We could surely find a means to convey Count Randalse south."
I heard a glottal, moist throat-clearing sound. A hand rose, the crowd parting lightly to reveal a faintly moist-looking man. He had a certain, unpleasantly piscine look to him, and I could see that his fingers were webbed, his eyes bulging in his head.
"My Lord," he said - croaked, almost. "Commander Remedios speaks true. The Folk have little interest in ships. Some take canoes and coracles on their raids, but most prefer to stay close to land."
"Just in time," Pavel muttered, "Didn't think we'd be hearing from Green. Glad he's with us."
"My thanks, Ran Tsu An Rin." It was a mouthful of a name, but Caspond pronounced it smoothly, fluently. "Twenty thousand people...And the beastman garrison?"
A pause. This, I could tell, was the sticky part for Remedios. "Half of that, at most," she admitted, stressing at most. "More likely, a quarter of that number. Less than that, if fortune favors us."
Father Ciriaco looked well and truly distressed, now - "Commander Remedios...Are you saying that we could be facing as many as ten thousand beastmen? Need I remind you that the entire Liberation Army can muster less than a thousand men-at-arms?"
Even Caspond looked distinctly dubious.
"Your Majesty, if I may…" Kelart again. "As it happens, we have little choice. Given the number of refugees arriving, our food supplies will last less than two weeks. Loyts has substantial reserves of grain...More importantly, it has housing for our people."
Her keen gaze searched the room. "I need not remind you that winter is coming. If we cannot secure a reliable source of supply, the Liberation Army - and all who stand with us - is doomed. More, there might be up to ten thousand of the city's original population remaining. If we can liberate them from their oppressors, we have the beginnings of a force to retake the North, with steel and faith."
"And if you're wrong?" A paladin I hadn't seen before stepped forward. He had a gentle face, deeply lined with concern. "If the beastmen move against us, in force?"
"Loyts can be fortified. The beastmen prefer to hibernate, in winter - A prolonged siege is beyond them," Remedios said, crisply. "Consider this, Captain Isandro...Would you prefer to be besieged in Loyts, or here? The Hollow Mountain's main defense is unknowability. With every day that passes, we're more likely to be discovered. If not for the blessing of the Four, this would already have come to pass."
Her words seemed to hang in the air, as that unhappy prophecy lingered. Kelart nodded to her sister, and carried on:
"Your Majesty, my lords - Taking Loyts serves another purpose, as well. Since his confrontation with the Holy Queen, the Shrouded Prophet has not been seen; It is my belief that his power is at a low ebb. We must take action while we can, before his strength returns."
Ciriaco leaned heavily on the table. It was a wonder he didn't totter - It was a lot for someone like him to take in.
"If he returns...This 'Prophet' shattered the wall. What guarantee do you have that he will not...simply do so again? Annihilate us with his unholy powers?"
And it was then that I knew.
More than anything, it was the Shrouded Prophet they feared. Anything else could have been endured, could be overcome - But against that magnitude of power, nothing could hope to stand against it. Back when I'd been playing Yggdrasil, tier nine spells hadn't even been implemented. If - and that was a big if - it was anything similar, I doubted anyone in the room could hope to stand against it.
Kelart waited for the low, almost anguished murmur of voices that followed to subside, before she spoke again.
"The Prophet must be confronted, sooner or later. As long as the Shrouded Prophet lives, the subhumans will never be brought to heel." Her expression was measured, now - Focused.
"But…With the Holy Queen missing - How could we hope to…?"
"We have options," Kelart said. "The Prophet may be powerful, but he is a single demihuman. No-one is invincible."
Caspond straightened, in his wooden throne. "Adventurers," he said. Something like realization blossomed in his eyes, though his expression remained sombre.
"As you say, your Majesty. The Re-Estize Kingdom can be reached by ship. At last count, there are no less than three adamantite-ranked teams in the vicinity - Red Drop, Blue Roses and Endless Crimson Rain. Any one of them would be the Prophet's equal."
Count Randalse harumphed. "If I recall, the Holy Queen conscripted all available adventurers to aid in the Great Wall's defense." For all the good it did, he didn't say. "-What makes you think the Guild will agree, after that humiliation? Do we even have anything to offer them?"
For the first time, Kelart looked weary. "Then what would you propose?" she asked, a rawness to her voice. "Perhaps the thought of a human kingdom falling to savages will be enough. Maybe King Ramposa could be convinced to aid us - Gazef Stronoff alone could turn the tide! Better to do all we can, rather than sit and wait to die."
She caught herself. "Forgive me, your Majesty. It has been a...trying time."
Silence descended. Caspond steepled his fingers together - His gaze turning inward. Weighing. I didn't envy him his burden; Whatever he chose, thousands of lives stood to be lost. Possibly everything.
At last, he sighed.
"Commander Custodio," he said - "How soon can the Liberation Army move out?"
With her gauntlet resting on the map, Remedios paused to consider this. "Two days, at most," she said, finally. "We'll be ready in two days."
"Very well," Caspond said. Soft, but with a firm strength to his words. He looked up, his blue eyes taking in the assembled paladins. They settled, at last, on Remedios and Kelart - Standing together, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"The Twin Wings," he mused aloud, looking between them. "The Holy Queen's boon companions. Grandmaster of the Paladin Order, High Priestess of the Four Gods. Strength, and wisdom."
A shadow passed across the Prince's well-favored features. "And yet...No-one can tell me: Has Holy Queen Calca perished? Do the demihumans have her? Does my sister still live?"
A flicker of emotion passed across Kelart's features. Remedios looked uneasy.
"Your Majesty," she began, at last. "I-"
Caspond held up a hand. "A passing thought, nothing more."
He rose. The crowd drew back, like a flung cape.
"Soldiers of the Liberation Army! In two days, we march on Loyts. By the will of the Four Gods - Let it be done."
"By Their will!"
The room exploded into activity. A flurry of orders, action, urgent footfalls. Like an ant's-nest, being kicked.
Now, I thought, alone in the controlled chaos, Now, only everything can go wrong.
Next: The Howler in Darkness