by Tiger Hebert
Theros looked far into the distance, beyond the king and the walls and the buildings, and said, “At least you have something to restore.”
“It is ours,” answered King Tiereon as he looked at his gray-skinned friend.
“Only until the war is over,” came his distant reply.
Nikolai interjected, “It doesn’t have to be.”
“We have work to do, men,” was the response as Theros redirected the conversation. “The corpses must be burned immediately, or sickness and disease will overtake us. Do not touch them. Burn ’em where they lie. Then we can clean up the rest.”
“Do as he says!” shouted the king, only to trigger another small round of coughing and hacking.
“Are you all right?” asked Melgrim.
“I’m fine, just need to get this damned seawater outta my throat,” grumbled the king as he ended the conversation.
It wasn’t long before small fires were lit throughout the city as the remains were torched. The fire and smoke chased away the hordes of carrion birds and rodents. It is hard to say which was worse, the bloated but deteriorating corpses or their burning. Both were wretchedly foul, stomach-knotting aromas that could make even an ogre cringe. It was necessary to quickly eliminate the remains before disease spread, so they were dealt with. Columns of dark black smoke rolled out from various spots throughout the city. The scavenging ravens and felturs were scattered high into the salty air that swirled above the gilded city.
The first days were busy and difficult. The streets were filthy, but finding lodging that had not been completely desecrated or befouled was an even more impossible task. So many homes and shops were tarnished with a taint that might never be removed. It was an overwhelming job, but they put their hands to the grindstone. After a couple of days of hard labor were behind them, the first round of people began to settle within the city walls. Temporary lodgings were made out of old shops and storefronts as the cleaning continued. Day after day, they worked late into the night. Those long hours spent by orc and man, male and female, side by side, were not wasted.
The old city on the sea was rather unique in a few ways. The fact that it was so close to the water alone did not make it stand out, but that geographic location lent itself to the overall shape and design of the city. The sandy shores of the sea used to stretch away from the water up to the lazy sand dunes that rolled along the coastline. This uneven terrain was a bit of an architectural headache. So the ruler of the day, King Paurumon, demanded that the city be built there anyway. So the greatest architectural minds agreed that they would need to first design a suitable foundation if this city was to ever be built here. So the architects and engineers designed the plans for the massive foundation. In doing so, they realized that the key element to the whole design was to build a thick stone wall along the westernmost edge of the sand dunes.
The massively thick stone wall was built by stacking layer upon layer of stone. The wall stood no less than the height of a grown man and would have taken two of the same-sized men fingertip to fingertip to span its estimated depth. Along the outer side of the wall— that is, the seaside—stone buttresses were strategically located along the seawall as an added support, with exactly eight feet between them. This heavily strengthened wall allowed the extensive backfilling that was needed to create the raised platform that the city was eventually built upon. The raised platform area that would become the city’s foundation was built as a massive half circle. The long straight edge ran along the newly engineered and constructed seawall while the arcing portion was on the eastern side of the wall. The choosing of the half circle was not a random or happenstance selection either; it was intentional, purposeful. As an ardent follower of the light, King Paurumon wanted the very design of the city to be a reflection of his devotion, so he commissioned the architects to make it happen.
At the very center of the rounded eastern wall, there was a large circle. For the lack of a better term, that circle would be the city square. It was the center of everything. The main gate was built there. It was the home of the markets and shops. The rest of the city’s layout sprawled out from this location in a purposeful manner. The streets shot out like rays of light shining forth from the blazing sun, going all the way from the city square to the back wall of the city. Jasprita’s layout looked like a sun shining its light throughout the city. It was that same value system of moral accountability and integrity that she was built upon. She may have lost her virtue along the way, but her ideals were something to be admired. She could be beautiful and made clean once again, but the work would take much longer than this. For the moment, their only concern was freeing her of disease.
The people worked hard. They went to great lengths just to carve out a safe and sanitary place to stay inside the city. Lodgings were mostly set up just inside the gate in the city center. However, there were other strategically selected buildings around the city, like the one that Lokar and rest of the centaur would eventually come to stay in.
The cleanup was the major effort that took place in the week between the arrival of the ships and the caravan; however, it was not the only. In fact, the following events, which occurred at the end of the fourth day, were of far greater importance.
Nikolai had not been much of a help with the work in the city; he was needed elsewhere. His father, the king, had not been well. Following their arrival at the city, his coughing grew worse as it sank deep down into his chest. The old king showed signs of increased fatigue. He had grown a bit sluggish before the fever and the accompanying chills set in. He tried to fight through it because he understood how much work needed to be done, but eventually his strength was sapped. Unable to resist the doctor’s order any longer, he was placed on bed rest. Nikolai, who himself was still on the mend, was tasked with the care of his father.
The relationship between the two men had always been strained. Nikolai was, in many ways, a bit of a wild horse growing up. He was strong-willed and had a mind of his own, often leading to clashes with his father. They both had ideas and opinions on any and everything, and their strong personalities were often in conflict. Nikolai cared greatly for his father just as his father cared for him, but their own egos often overshadowed that truth. The young captain and prince did not know how to fix what was broken between them, but the orc chieftain’s words echoed in his mind—the words that said he must serve before being served, that he must follow before being followed. Nikolai couldn’t find the right words, so he often stayed silent, but he rarely left his father’s side.
For the first few days, Nikolai provided a steady supply of water and chilled broth to accompany the cool rags that rested upon his father’s tired brow. The fever seemed to be slowed, but it was hardly broken, and the king’s strength was waning. King Tiereon’s discomfort did not diminish, though, and soon they would need a stronger brew of broth to ease his suffering. A quiet stupor fell over the king’s quarters. Occasionally his words broke forth, interrupting the silence, but their jumbled meanings must have come from some faraway place, as they offered little in translation. Maybe he had visions or even visitations, but it was more likely that the waking dream world of hallucinations were triggered by the sedation of his fevered mind.
What initially appeared to be nothing more than a nasty cough had evolved into something quite terrible over the past two weeks. Nikolai watched his father wilt like a summer’s rose at the first hint of fall. The fever was like a corralled fire. It was cut off and wouldn’t grow any stronger, but it continued to burn. The nurses that attended to him felt that the fever was about to break, but the concern was how much damage had been done. Truth be told, Nikolai was about the only one who held out hope for the king to make a recovery. The nurses understood much of what the illness had done to him. They understood that it was a hell of a way to die, but it would be an even worse ordeal to survive.
As the prince looked after the king, the centaur that arrived with Lokar joined in the renovation efforts. Shops and homes were stri
pped and gutted of any and every trace of the Baalim. Those remnants were piled just beyond the city walls and summarily torched. The bonfires blazed as the city was reclaimed. They made a significant amount of progress, but the reality was that the city was quite large, and it would take months to rid it of the hints of corruption that spread throughout. And no one knew how much time they would have.
“What is next?” asked Lokar.
“It is hard to tell at the moment. We need more information,” replied Melgrim.
Theros spoke up, “We don’t know the status of our enemies or if we have any potential allies.”
“We are preparing reconnaissance missions as we speak,” added the captain.
“What can we do to help?” asked the centaur commander.
As he finished speaking, a great commotion stirred in the city center. People scrambled up the walls, all with their eyes to the south. The onlookers were shouting and pointing to the flats in the distance. Melgrim and Theros rushed to climb the nearest wall while Lokar dashed out of the court through the city gates. Then, with his hammers gripped tight, the orc chieftain stared at the oncoming horde. A slowly creeping wave of humanity, not hundreds, but thousands, pressed toward them.
“What army of man would dare to march upon Jasprita?” shouted a familiar voice from behind them.
They turned to see Prince Nikolai rushing toward them as he tried to get a view for himself. The others made room for the royal captain atop the wall. Then the same realization that they had just come to begin to sink in with him as well. It was not an army of man. Rather an army of man and dwarf and…elf.
“What the—” blurted out the impetuous heir.
Theros didn’t wait for him to finish. “It appears that at least a portion of the humans belong to the secret order called the Brotherhood of the Unveiled Eye.”
“Are they—” started Nikolai before the chieftain cut him off once more.
“White banners,” said the orc with a pause. “We must go out and meet them.”
Nikolai and Melgrim chased the big fella down the stone steps, and the questions continued.
“The Unveiled Eye? I’ve never heard of them. Where are they from?” interrogated the unnerved prince.
Theros answered, “They’re a religious group of men from a region known as Tempour. It is nested deep within the far reaches of jungles to the south.”
“You said men, but there are clearly elves and dwarves among them,” asked Melgrim as he followed the orc out the front gate. Theros replied, “Let’s find out.”
The trio met up with Lokar just outside the city walls. Together they moved forward to meet the large contingent that approached them. It was quite an unusual scene, one that most would not have lived to see. The combination of centaur, dwarf, orc, elf, and man together in one place was nearly unheard of this side of the Black Sea. Yet as the small party and the large caravan converged, that is just what happened. The wagon at the head of the procession carried King Tua’Liluon, Grand Master Duncan, and Dominar the dwarf.
“Bless my beard,” exclaimed the dwarf excitedly as he jumped to his feet while the wagon was still yet moving. The stout fellow was almost undone by his own excitement. First he began to wobble, and then he nearly went tail over teakettle before clutching at the wagon’s wooden rails. After steadying himself, he shouted, “Can it truly be Sir Theros Hammerfist, friend of dwarves and the bane of cats everywhere?”
His words and the laughter that chased them reached the orc’s ears and brought about the first smile in days. The orc was slow to speak, but his deep voice bellowed, “Dominar?”
A wave of relief washed over the old dwarf. Instantly, the seemingly ancient memories flashed once more through his mind’s eye. The dwarf jumped down from the halting wagon. His stumpy little legs displayed more grace than you would expect, and before you knew it, he was quickly rushing toward the large orc. It was hard for Dominar to believe it, but the great orc was even larger than he remembered—which is quite rare for a dwarf, with their art of exaggeration being legendary and all.
“Dominar, my old friend, it is you,” beamed the big orc as he embraced his friend.
“Bless my beard indeed! What good fortune to find you here!” shouted Dom.
“Yes, that gray crumb catcher needs all the blessings it can get! But what on Aurion is a dwarf doing here, and what is all this?” asked Theros as he looked at the huge caravan behind the dwarf.
“The black dragon, he has sent his army upon all of Darnisi by now. Dar Mar’Kren is lost. Nashia is lost. Trellion is lost. Trellion, ah the elves,” said Dom, as if he reminded himself of something. “Speaking of which, I must introduce you to King Tua’Liluon, lord of the elves of Trellion, and to young King Nal’drin of the plains of Nashia.”
“Well met,” answered Theros as he gave a slight bow of the head toward Tua’Liluon and Nal’drin. “I would introduce you to my companions, Commander Lokar of the Hand of Horus, Captain Melgrim, and Prince Nikolai of Storm Vale…and Jasprita.”
The old greybeard continued, “As I was saying, Dar Mar’kren, Nashia, and Trellion…all destroyed by the dragon and his army. The Brotherhood here offered us all refuge in Tempour, but the dragon is cunning. He sent the Danji and Anwari forces to siege the city, but we were saved…”
“Saved by what?”
“Not what, but who…Theros, there is someone else that you must meet…”
Those who had not yet met him turned their attention to the large robed figure that walked toward them from the caravan. Theros and the others exchanged confused glances with one another, before speaking.
“Who is this?” asked the suspicious orc.
“He is the one who saved us,” answered Dom.
“One man saved you? Who is this hero that could singlehandedly turn the tide of an entire battle?” asked Nikolai with skepticism.
“Matouf zit maloor Kejan zit touille, da ustef baleel utkian lial leut Grize Ustrach,” said the hooded figure. Then he slowly stepped forward and dropped his hood and gave the orc a smile.
As the Frelsarine spoke those familiar words, the vision of the blazing lion roared into his mind’s eye, and the mighty orc dropped to his knees in reverence as he cried out, “The Great Lion!”
Aneri’On let out a small chuckle and smiled as he placed a gentle hand upon the prostrate orc’s shoulder before saying, “It is good to see you again, my friend.” Then he turned to the others and said, “My name is Aneri’On.”
Lokar gave a reverent bow at the utterance of the forgotten language, but Melgrim and Nikolai did not understand and confusion swept over their faces.
Seeing this, Dom proclaimed, “He is the one who has come to defeat the dragon!”
The two humans did not share in his excitement or confidence. The individuals exchanged greetings very briefly as signs of respect, and then the prince spoke up saying, “Well, If you are friends of the chieftain, then you are friends of the crown. Jasprita is far from restored to her former glory, but she lies before you with open arms. Please find refuge within her walls.”
“Thank you, Prince Nikolai,” responded the dwarf cordially before continuing, “but we must talk at once.”
“We will hold a council tonight. First, let’s get you and your people settled,” answered Theros.
After a few minutes, the formalities ended for the time being, and Lokar was already focusing all his attention on Aneri’On. So the dwarf and the orc walked and talked side by side as they led the caravan toward the city gates, but the orc couldn’t take his eyes off the Frelsarine either. The herd of humanity pushed forward until it reached the high stone walls of the city and her open gates. The wagons and beasts of burden were mostly left outside the city while the people filed inside.
Melgrim gave orders for his men to help find quarters for their new guests, and it would be no easy task. The city was still in a state of disrepair and much of it wouldn’t be fixed for months. Now this massive influx of people was just too much. S
o the soldiers prioritized the room assignments. The sick and wounded that made the journey were all brought to the makeshift hospital on the southern side of town. Next the old and those with young children were given lodging. Many of them still had to share their living spaces with others, and it was no doubt cramped quarters. Those were the lucky ones. The others, which were the large majority, had two choices. They could either stay in the town square, with no roof or shelter, or they could begin working to make a dwelling suitable. It meant stripping everything out, simply gutting the place. At that point, they would be left to cleaning—and lots of it—just to try to get the beasts’ scent out of the rooms.
The city was now a hub of activity and diversity. Orc and man worked alongside dwarf and elf while centaurs galloped through the stone streets. Buildings were being demolished and reconstructed while others were cleansed of their filth. The markets were bustling with activity as hot food and drink was prepared continually. Then there were the smiths like Tomar and Gragarr, who had only just now gotten to know each other, working tirelessly at their craft. After all, the war was not over, and the troops needed weapons and armor. And so it was in the streets of Jasprita, as the jewel of the north began to shine once more.
32 United Nations
The impromptu council would meet on the backside of the city. Nikolai wheeled the small cart that carried his sickly father over the uneven brick work that made up the seawall. King Tiereon was propped up in the wagon. He did not look well. His pallid skin looked as if all his strength had faded away. The cart rocked as the wooden wheels rolled from one stone to the next, delivering jarring shots to the enfeebled man, but he held on.
The wind was a feisty brat, trying to steal away the blood red cloak that hung off the back of the orc’s broad shoulders. The procession that immediately followed the chieftain included Captain Melgrim, Dominar, King Nal’drin, King Tua’Liluon, and Commander Lokar. The second wave comprised of Grand Master Duncan, the two master slayers, and Aneri’On followed a short distance behind them. It was there, at the land’s end, that all twelve came together for the first time.
