As we draw near to the mage towers, evidence of the Arc’s destruction becomes more apparent. The air grows thick with dust and smoke, making it difficult to breath, and almost everywhere we pass is filled with debris, the houses crushed and the cobbled streets broken. Bodies litter the roadways as well, their mangled forms buried beneath grit and chunks of stone.
“Eleven Hells,” curses Malik, before descending into a fit of coughing.
“I’ve not seen anything like this in all my life,” Kris mutters softly, his tone disturbed.
Moaning and the sound of terrified screaming children fills the hazy air, the noise echoing hauntingly through the deserted neighborhood. The crowds, it seems, have not yet made it to this decrepit part of the city.
“We’re almost there,” I reply, noting the unfallen mage towers just ahead. “Let’s keep moving.”
As we step foot into the wide, circular courtyard of the Conclave, it is as if we are entering a war zone and not the cultural center of the world. The ring of towers, all but three still standing, seem like dark monoliths in the grey atmosphere, their forms faint shadows in the dust-choked air of the rubble-strewn enclosure.
The Pillar of Radiance, the centermost and largest of the towers, is completely gone – a long line of destruction cutting a swathe through the city where it had fallen. The Azure tower, which had been taken down with the fall of the Pillar, still partially stands, a broken sliver less than half of its original height still standing in its place. The Tower of Recreants also lies in shambles, it’s pieces scattered like broken pottery.
All over, picking through the wreckage, are the despondent remnants of the mages, their blue robes dull with filth as they search about the ruins for survivors.
“Spread out,” I command in a soft voice, staring out at the scene in detached solemnity. “Help with the relief efforts. Do not hesitate to help out in any way you can.”
Silently, the Nightingales obey, putting away their weapons and making their way through the ghostly courtyard.
So much destruction, I think, making straight for a nearby pile of rubble. So much death... who knew that a broken tower could cause so much devastation. For a moment, I can’t help but think that this is but a shadow of what is to come. The ruin that the R’Laar will bring upon this city will make this event seem small by comparison.
Nearby, someone calls for help, which shakes me out of my dazed and despondent thoughts. Springing into action, I race over to the source of the sound, eyes searching through the debris. Everywhere I look there are bodies, broken, shattered forms lying motionless on the ground. These were mages who were out walking when the Heart of Light exploded, innocent bystanders who were crushed by the rocks and timbers falling down atop their heads.
“Help!” The voice calls weakly from a haphazard heap of stone. “Anyone... please!”
I scramble atop the pile and begin searching, pawing through the detritus for a sign of the survivor. There! I think, catching a glimpse of a dust-covered hand poking out to my left.
“Hold on,” I say loudly, making my way over to the hand. “I’ll get you out.”
Stone crumbles as I begin pushing away chunks of masonry, the remains of what had once been a part of the base of the Pillar of Radiance. Not much remains of the Grand Hall, just broken walls and mountains of debris. As I work, I am quickly joined by others, mages and passersby who have materialized out of the gloom to help.
We slowly clear a path to the wounded man, lifting large fractured stones to reveal a small pocket of air beneath the rubble. There, we find a middle-aged mage lying propped up on one elbow, his right leg crushed beneath a slab and his body covered in a thick layer of grit and dust.
"Don't move," I command, crouching down to examine the wound. "If you try to pull it out, you'll risk losing the leg. We'll have to lift up the stone."
The other mages cluster around me, and I gesture for them to aid me. Then, heaving mightily, we attempt to move the enormous slab. It shifts ever so slightly, sending rocks shifting and causing the trapped mage to cry out in pain, but otherwise it does not budge, remaining firmly locked in place.
"We need more people," I grunt, adjusting my grip on the broken chunk of wall. Eying one of the nearby mages, I use my chin to gesture away. "You there – go and find some help. Hurry!"
The man nods and dashes off, leaving us alone to hold our awkward position.
Fortunately, it isn’t long before he returns with three other mages, who all scramble up the pile of rubble to help us. With their aid, we manage to finally lift the slab up while someone pulls out the wounded man from beneath it. When we set the stone down, it sends up a billowing cloud of dust.
I step away, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. The mage's leg is a mangled mess, but with proper treatment he will survive, though he will likely use a crutch for the rest of his life.
Turning, I move on to help the next poor soul, searching amidst the destruction for anyone in need.
Hours pass as more and more people arrive on the scene, the crowds from the outer city arriving to help with the clean-up efforts. It's still not enough, I think as I help an elderly man with a gash on his head hobble away from a collapsed house. It will take months, even years to clean all of this up. Not that we even have that long...
Bodies and parts of bodies are everywhere, strewn amid the shattered tower like broken dolls, playthings seemingly torn apart and left by giants. There are weeping children with tear-stained faces beside wounded adults clutching bleeding limbs, their faces seeming lost and distraught, as if no one truly believes what they are experiencing. All around, voices can be heard crying and lamenting and cursing the Light itself, adding a strange contrast to the eerie silence that hovers over the area.
As night begins to fall, it seems that most of the wounded have been rescued from the collapsed towers. Even so, many people still dig through the wreckage, hoping to find any remaining survivors.
My muscles and joints protest painfully from so much heavy lifting, and as I join up once again with the soot-stained Nightingale warriors, I find myself rubbing at my tender shoulder.
Not as young as I once was, I think to myself, grimacing as Malik approaches.
"We need to go back to the encampment outside the city," he says, pitching his voice low. "The others will need to know about all that has happened."
I nod, then notice a despondent-looking figure standing atop a large pile of rubble. His mage robes, deep blue beneath a thick layer of grey dust, seem to bear finer embroidery than the other mages I have encountered, and the way he carries himself, even when stricken by grief, seems to denote some level of leadership.
"We will leave shortly," I reply after a brief pause. "First, there is something that I must do."
The others nod as I make my way up to the top of the pile, clearing my throat to get the mage's attention.
He shakes his head as if to clear away thoughts and turns, his haunted eyes regarding me curiously. Otherwise, though, he does not respond.
"Are you a member of the Circle?" I ask gruffly. I vaguely recognize him from the battle of Forest Hill.
He nods.
"What is your name?"
"Roth," he replies hoarsely.
"Well, Roth," I say, reaching into a pocket in my cloak, "I have a letter for you. It is from the High Magus herself."
His eyes seem to focus for a moment, a flicker of recognition flashing across his features as I pull out the bloodstained letter and hand it over to him. He accepts it and slowly unfolds it, then begins reading by the low light of the setting sun.
As I watch, his expression appears to grow even more dejected, tears welling up in his eyes. Then, sighing, he folds up the letter and peers down at me.
"So, she's dead then?"
I nod my head solemnly. "Murdered by King Aethelgar."
"Blackhearted bastard," Roth curses softly. "At least he got what he deserved. It seems that now the kingdom is leaderless, both royally and ma
gically. This truly is the end of all things."
"That is why I am here," I reply, taking another step up the rubble toward him. "Now that the Arc is down, the Prince of Darkness will strike. We need to present a unified defense when he arrives, or all of us will be destroyed. We need leadership, now more than ever."
Roth nods slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "First, we need to account for all of the surviving mages. It will... take some time. Then, we will need to call together what's left of the Circle and elect a new High Magus."
"Good," I reply. "Be sure to make haste, Magus. Time is working against us. For now, I return to the Nightingales. They need to be notified of what has occurred here. We will be in contact with you soon."
I turn to leave, but stop when the mage calls out my name.
"You’re Elias, correct?” I nod in reply.
“Thank you for helping us today – you and the Nightingales. This will not be forgotten."
"We're all brothers, now," I reply grimly. Then, I make my way over to the Nightingales and begin our long walk back to the encampment.
Chapter Three
Zara
The forest glistens with ice and snow as we make our way into the Emberwood. It looks like something out of a fairytale, and despite our desperate circumstances, I can’t help but look around in wonder at the beauty of it all.
Our weary caravan of desert folk trudges through the winter scene clad in clothing that is entirely unsuitable to our new environment, our feet and legs quickly becoming sodden from the moisture. I notice that am not the only one who seems amazed by our new surroundings. The people of the wastes look around with a mixture of wonder and fear, their eyes wide as they examine this strange new world. No doubt this is more water and vegetation than they have ever seen in their lives.
It isn’t long, however, before the beautiful scenery loses its luster and I am reminded of the mind of numbing fatigue seeping into my bones. My soaking toes quickly grow numb, and before I realize it, my teeth are chattering violently.
“Are you alright?" Owyn asks, his face lined with concern.
“I’ll survive," I reply, vigorously rubbing my arms to stave off the chill. “How much longer do you think we should go?"
He grunts but does not immediately reply. He continues marching forward through the snow, beating a path for the rest of us to follow. Finally, he shrugs. “We need to put as much distance behind us as we can," he replies, not seeming the least bit troubled by the cold. “I fear that the demons will send scouts, and that if we do not move quickly, they will overtake us.”
“Well," I retort, trying hard not to let my discomfort make me sound emotional, “if we go on for too much longer, people will start to collapse from exhaustion. We fought a battle earlier today, remember?"
“I remember,” he replies without looking back.
We fall into an uneasy silence, the sound of many feet crunching through the snow filling the air.
The forest seems so pristine, so deserted around us, and when I push aside my thoughts and worries, I can almost forget that the Arc of Radiance is no longer protecting us. It is as if we are in another place and time separate from the horrors of the real world. Here, there is only nature, a dense woodland of thick trunks under a canopy of leafless branches.
As the sun begins to wane in the sky, Owyn finally motions for us to halt. My teeth are still chattering, and I can barely feel my legs beneath me.
“I know this part of the forest,” he says, sounding wistful. “There’s a spring just ahead, and old logging camp that should have some dry kindling hidden away.”
“Th-thank the Light,” I mutter.
He points to a clearing a few paces ahead of us. “Have them set up their tents up there,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do about getting a fire going.”
Rubbing my hands together to get the blood back into them, I turn and relay the message to the people behind me. They look just as cold and miserable as I do. Slowly, and with a fair amount of grumbling, they do as Owyn commands, spreading out into the clearing and setting up their reedy wooden frames. Those things are made of thick leather, I think, watching as a nearby pair of women unroll a tent. They should hold in heat well enough.
I attempt to help them to the best of my ability, unpacking provisions from the litters and backpacks the men have been carrying, but I quickly become dizzy and am forced to lean against a tree for support.
Magic sickness, I think with a grimace. I never seem to get used to it.
The wave of nausea passes eventually, but it leaves me feeling significantly weakened, my legs literally shaking from the effort of holding me up. Reluctantly, I shrink down against the tree, watching tiredly as the camp springs up around me. Owyn, having found some dry firewood beneath a tarp buried in the snow, quickly builds a large fire, granting light and warmth to the cluster of tents as the sun begins to set. He lights a few more fires, then comes over to check on me, his eyes softening when he spots my pathetic, tremulous form.
“Hells, Zara, you’re shaking! We need to warm you up!”
Reaching down, he scoops me into his arms, picking me up with little effort despite my mumbled complaints.
“I can walk by myself,” I protest, even as I wrap my arm around his neck. “Let me down, you great brute!”
“Hush,” he says, mildly reproving. “You’re nearly dead from exhaustion. I’ll not have you die in the snow because of your stubbornness. You need food, fire, and rest – and that’s final.”
“Fine,” I reply sullenly, resting my head against his shoulder. “But only because I’m too tired to argue with you, Owyn Lund.”
He tromps through the snow to one of the blazing fires, then gently sets me down on a blanket. The heat of the crackling flames feels good against my skin, and I can immediately feel it start to warm the wet clothing clinging to my body. Even so, my limbs continue to quiver uncontrollably.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Do your best to stay awake.”
I nod numbly as he departs, leaving me alone with a group of quiet, somber desert folk. We all sit, staring blankly into the fire for an indeterminate amount of time, the night setting in around us.
Finally, Owyn returns with a clay bowl of steaming broth. Apparently, one of the other fires has been set aside for the preparation of the evening meal. He hands me the bowl, which I take gratefully, then unwraps a small bundle that he had tucked beneath his arm. Inside, I can see strips of dried meat and a handful of small reddish berries. These provisions he splits between the two of us.
The others around the fire eye the food hungrily, then shuffle off to acquire meals of their own.
I bring the steaming broth up to my lips, inhaling the fragrant steam and letting it warm my lungs. The oily liquid smells faintly of salt, and I quickly realize that it is nothing more than boiled strips of quill demon meat similar to what Owyn is now chewing on – but after a day like today, and as hungry as I am, it smells absolutely delicious.
Ravenously, I begin to slurp it down.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, devouring our food and staring into the fire. I instantly begin to feel much better, the food lending me strength even though my fatigue still remains. After a time, I turn to Owyn and offer him a faint smile. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
He returns the smile with one of his own. “Don’t mention it.”
After a brief pause, I continue, looking back to the glowing embers. “What are we going to do now? What’s the plan?”
“I’m honestly not sure,” he replies, biting off another strip of meat and chewing thoughtfully. “The logical choice is Tarsys, I suppose.”
“Do you think we’ll be able to make it that far on foot?”
He shrugs. “Our supplies should hold, but I’m worried about our lack of winter clothing. A few more days of this, and we may see people start to collapse, maybe even freeze. Who knows what the weather will react now that the Arc is gone?”
“I’d guess that it will get considerably warmer. Though, truthfully, I’m not sure how long that will take.”
Again, there is a lull in the conversation, and I suddenly feel compelled to voice something that I have been bottling all day. “Owyn... I’m sorry that I failed. It was a miracle that we were able to get out of that fight alive. If not for luck or divine intervention or whatever it was, we would have all been killed and it would have been all my fault. I’m... I’m so....” Tears begin to spring unwittingly to my eyes, and in an instant Owyn is by my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and whispering comforting words.
“It wouldn’t have been your fault, Zara,” he says softly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You did your best – all of us did. There’s no shame in being unable to get out of an impossible situation.”
“I understand that,” I reply, glaring up at him. I begin wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “But that doesn’t change the fact that many people – good people – died because I made a promise that I ultimately couldn’t keep. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that.”
Visions of dead people flash in my mind’s eye, desert defenders cut down by the wicked blades of the gorgons, their blood being absorbed by the thirsty ground. Again, tears well up in my eyes, and it is all I can do not to let out an angry sob in front of everyone.
Owyn pauses, seeming taken aback by my sudden vehemence. Then, he sighs, turning his head away to stare out into the shadowed forest.
“We all fail, every one of us,” he says after a moment, voice sounding distant. “Sometimes it’s our fault, and sometimes it isn’t. The Light made us imperfect, and that’s simply a fact of life.” Then, he turns back to stare at me, his forest green eyes peering deeply into my own. “What truly matters is what we do after our failures, how we learn from our mistakes and move on. That is the true measure of greatness, I think. And you, Zara Dennel, are one of the great ones. I know, because I have seen it time and time again.”
Prince of Darkness Page 3
