- Senator Lucius Aelius’s letter to his son, newly appointed Legate Appius Aelius, sent before the latter’s Northern Campaign during which the tower and castellum at Arhaus were first built.
As the raindrops had started to fall the previous night, Wyddol Tollonyn had woven his hands together like he had taught his daughter Gwyndolyn to do. His aether canopy had just started keeping the rain off of him as he heard a shout.
“Fire! Fire!”
It was coming from the western end of the walled village.
Wyddol released his aether canopy and darted through the narrow paths between the stone houses. The thatched roofs of the village were extremely flammable, though none of the Sojourners had set one alight before now.
“Lord, keep that rain coming,” Wyddol prayed as he rounded a corner.
A crowd had already gathered. They were bringing buckets from the well in the center of the square. Shattered potsherds on the ground caught Wyddol’s eye. He slipped past two bucket carriers and picked up a piece of the broken pottery. It was covered in pitch on the inside. “Oh, no,” he hissed under his breath.
This house was next to the village wall, and Wyddol used a little pop of his aetherial power to leap up to the walkway at the top of the wall. He began running to the closer of the two watchtowers, scanning the orchard outside the wall for movement.
“Bergen, anything strange tonight before the fire?” he asked recognizing the watchman when he got to the watchtower.
“No, Wyddol, nothing except for the burning building,” replied the older man, “But it is awful suspicious.”
“Keep a lookout, this smells of a distraction,” shouted Wyddol as he continued on along the walkway.
He headed for the north gatehouse of the village overlooking the bridge across the Silverling River. He had been in more than enough street fights to recognize a feint when he saw one. Aetherials with certain abilities were often considered living weapons. Weapons many wanted to test their mettle against.
In the gatehouse, Wyddol shouted, “Watch out below!”
He cut loose the portcullis and felt it shake the whole structure as it fell into place.
“The Kaladarian legion that built this place must have felt about as welcome around here as we have lately,” growled Wyddol darkly. He was thankful for the old defenses nonetheless.
He continued on around the wall making good time despite the rain. It had only been a few minutes since the hue and cry had been raised for the fire. Still, he could not shake the feeling that a sucker punch was coming soon. As he looked up to shout to the guard on this watchtower, he saw the sucker punch land.
A javelin of white wood came flying up from outside the wall and pierced the watchman who had been looking out to the east. The watchman stumbled back, and collapsed out of view behind the crenellations of his tower.
Wyddol burned a little more of his Blessing and leaped all the way to the top of the tower. It was far enough that he had to spend a little more energy to safely land as well. He was already starting to think about economy of effort and saving enough energy for a full-scale battle.
The watchman had already died when Wyddol reached him. The javelin had gone all the way through him. That strong of a throw from the ground to the top of the watchtower could only mean one thing.
“WILDMEN! TO ARMS! WILDMEN ARE ATTACKING!” shouted Wyddol as loudly as he could.
Lythia, Litharus’s mother, heard the cries of “To Arms!” while she was sitting in the common room of what had once been a barracks. That would have been a fortunate coincidence had there been any arms or soldiers left there to wield them. Instead, Lythia was surrounded by the handful of women who had stayed behind instead of leave on the first skyship. None of them had the skill or strength to pick up a weapon and fight. But, Lythia was different. She was a Blessed.
“Quick, to the cellar and hide! I’ll be right back. Don’t open the door after I go out!” said Lythia as she stood up to leave.
The five other women looked stunned and scared.
“Don’t just sit there, go!” commanded Lythia imitating her husband, Laetos. Her mind flashed to her son who reminded her so much of his father. She consoled herself with the fact that Litharus was safely up the hill where Haliel, Dargar, and many of the guards were.
The women headed for the cellar as Lythia headed for the trouble.
Lythia was not a fighter, but she knew that she was in a place made by stonewrights who fought. Kaladarian legions built their fort villages as mazes of almost solid stone so that their stonewrights could defend a huge section almost single-handedly. Laetos had drilled her on the possibility of an attack in the village, but he was off waiting in Fireheart for her and Litharus.
The problem was that no one else here knew the Kaladarian tactics. Lythia could raise walls and trap enemies, she could carve out pits and cover them with thin sheets of stone, she could collapse walls onto Wildmen, but she could not get her fellow Sojourners to go where she needed them. All except one.
Wyddol seemed to know exactly what he was doing and what Lythia wanted him to do. The storm grew worse. Soon, the battle was being lit by flashes of lightning. Still, Wyddol read Lythia’s tactical intent perfectly.
When Lythia touched the wall of a house, Wyddol pushed two Wildmen up next to it. The Sojourner stonewright carved out the base of the wall and it collapsed on the tribal warriors.
When she opened a hole in the middle of the path down to a house’s cellar then put a false floor over it, Wyddol lead a Wildman down the path and leaped over the spot. In almost perfect timing with a rolling boom of thunder, the Wildman crashed through into the cellar below.
When Lythia walled off a section between houses, Wyddol again lead Wildmen to the right spot. Lythia raised to final wall of the pen as lightning flashed, and Wyddol aetherially jumped over the wall leaving the Wildmen behind.
Once as Wyddol darted off to find more Wildmen, he had shouted, “Make round throwing stones!” Lythia had grabbed a wall of a house and started pulling out spheres of stone that fit in the palm of her hand. When Wyddol returned, Lythia raised a little ridge right behind him, so that the two Wildmen chasing him tripped and fell. Wyddol stopped beside her, reached down for two throwing stones and promptly hurled them with such aetherially amplified force that they shattered the thick skull of the Wildmen like eggs.
When Lythia looked up through the rain at Wyddol’s face during a lightning flash, a chill went down her spine. She had seen that look on the face of Laetos and some of his soldier friends before. Wyddol had the look of a killer.
In response to her unspoken question, Wyddol Tollonyn simply replied, “I’m an aetherial. We’re all killers. I used to do it for money. Before I was a Sojourner I mean.”
He bent down and took as many more stones as he could carry.
“Why haven’t Haliel or Dargar come down to help us? Did no one get away to fetch them?” asked Lythia between the thunder.
Wyddol paused for a moment, not wanting to worry his biggest weapon in his current fight. He could not avoid the truth. Hoping that it would not through her off or cause her to take off up the hill, he admitted, “I think they’re as busy as we are up there. The top of the tower is on fire, and I’d guess they’re dealing with an attack as well. I’m sure they’ll be down to help us when they get rid of whoever is pestering them at the moment.”
He did not wait for Lythia to process the news or respond. Instead, he darted off down another path between houses to find more Wildmen.
Wildmen kept coming like the storm. The musclebound warriors seemed intent to soak the ground just like the storm too, except with Sojourner blood instead of rain.
The Sojourners fell back to the little square in the middle of the walled village. Lythia walled off all the paths into the square by pulling stone between the buildings.
But, one building on the square, the chapel, was made of wood.
“Can you wall off that part too?” asked Bergen. The watchma
n was covered in blood and holding his arm tight to his body. They were huddled in the barracks entryway. Other survivors were across the square in the doorway of the inn. The women were still in the barracks cellar hiding.
“Yes,” replied Lythia, “But, I think we’d be better served if I used the Blessing I’ve got left to tunnel out of here.”
The rhythmic sound of axes on wood began from the back of the chapel. The Wildmen were setting to work on it. For the moment, it seemed to be taking all of their attention. Or perhaps, the attackers were relaxing a little because they thought they had their quarry trapped.
“You and what army of stonewrights are going to tunnel us out of here?” asked Wyddol incredulously. “Tunneling burns through Blessing like a candle in a forge fire. Wait, I’ll just fly us all to safety!”
Lythia answered by silently pulling a chain out from around her neck. It was an arbolfix, a depiction of their Lord and Savior dying on a tree. Unlike most of the usual simple carving, this one was adorned with glittering gems. Emeralds were in place of the leaves. Rubies were at their Savior’s hands, feet, head, and side. On the chain, crystal prayer beads were mounted. “Ouranic jewels and crystals. My grandfather made it and passed it on to me. It will hold almost two weeks’ worth of Blessing.”
Wyddol gave a low whistle of admiration. “That puts my ring to shame. It only holds two days, and it looks awful.” He held out his hand. The ring had a ghastly pale pinkish purple stone shaped like a pointed oval.
“That’s a woman’s ring!” laughed Lythia.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” grumbled Wyddol. “Do you know how hard it is to get Ouranic crystals when you can’t make them yourself? At least it will look better on Gwyndolyn’s hand someday.”
Lythia looked at Wyddol seriously and asked, “Do you really think our children are alright? The tower top is still on fire up there.”
“Of course they’re alright,” reassured the aetherial. “They’re with a Faithful Servant. And, one of the best Wildmen warriors I’ve seen. Better than these sloppy buffoons. They’ll make it to the Standing Rock before us, I’d wager.”
Then, he waved to surviving men and shouted too loudly, “To the barracks cellar! Let’s hide out in there!”
Quietly to Lythia he said, “Do you think you could put a big, thick wall over the door that would take the Wildmen a long while to chip through?”
Lythia smiled, “Sounds like a plan.”
The tunneling took a long time and most of Lythia’s stored Blessing from her arbolfix. She had needed to take many breaks to regain her focus and concentration. Finally, the Sojourner stonewright had gotten them to a spot on the bank of the Silverling River almost a mile away from the village.
If they could have changed places, Wyddol or Bergen would have been the first one out. But, Lythia had needed to made the tunnel as small as possible so she could make it as long as possible. There was no room to correct poor “marching” order. Instead of a warrior, it was going to be a builder wriggling out onto the bank.
After what seemed like an eternity of listening at a small hole, Lythia shaped an opening in the rock face and slowly poked her head out into the rain. A moment later, she had the hole wide open and slid out into the darkness on the pebbly shore of the river. Looking back toward the villages and the tower, Lythia could see that the Boreal village on the north side of the river was lit up and active. Their Sojourner village on the south had fires burning inside the wall, and the tower top was smoldering in the rain.
Lythia waved to the tunnel, and the rest of the Sojourner survivors, fourteen in all, crawled out. Wyddol brought up the rear.
He leaned in to Lythia and whispered, “Better close it up. No reason to leave a path for those abominations to follow us.”
She nodded in the dark. Despite her near exhaustion, she closed off their escape route. Then, they set off along the river toward the forest and the Standing Rock. It was still almost three leagues away.
“How much longer are we going to wait before one of us goes back?” asked Lythia.
“I’ll go in a few minutes. Do you want to take the others to the Druspagos and we’ll all meet there?” asked a drenched Wyddol.
Lythia brushed a rain-soaked curl of hair out of her eyes as she considered her options. She desperately wanted to run off into the night and not stop running until she found her baby boy. But, God doesn’t seem to be giving me that choice, does He?
I’ve spent most all of the Blessing from the arbolfix tunneling out of the village. So, Wyddol has more Blessing left. And, he is a far superior fighter. With the village most likely still crawling with Wildmen, he is the logical choice.
Despite all that, Lythia still said,”Why would you be the one going back?”
Wyddol was married. It was the only reason he did not look at Lythia like she was insane. He listed the exact same reasons that Lythia had just given herself. But, he did it in a kind and caring way.
One reason that Lythia should go had escaped them both. She knew about the secret passageway that the children were hiding in at that moment. Wyddol had never been told about it, even though the lantern hanging at the end was formerly his.
Wyddol had not actually spent that much time in the underground complex beneath the tower. Since he had given up working as an assassin when he had become a Sojourner, his life had become much more mundane. Instead of chopping down men, he used his Blessing to chop down trees. He had also maneuvered logs and split firewood with his Aetherial powers. He spent most of his time as a woodsman. So even though Lythia assumed he knew, Wyddol had never heard of the escape passage and its forest path.
Wyddol waved cheerily to Lythia as he ducked into the trees and headed away from the Standing Rock down the side of the hill. Instead of veering to the south as would have if he’d known about the tunnel, he held closer to the riverbank. He lept over the swollen creek using his Blessing without a thought.
He grumbled to himself, “Why did I have Lythia close off our tunnel? I could have snuck under the village and just headed straight up to the sanctuary like I would on any old Lord’s day. As it is, I’ll have to go around in the rain. At least it’s dark enough that no one will see me unless they’re right on top of me.”
His feral grin was swallowed up by the predawn darkness.
Wyddol made his way around the tower’s hill without seeing a single Wildman. As he reached the top, he had been preparing to use his Blessing to leap over the wall, but he did not need to.
A huge scorched breech in the wall made his ingress easier than he would have liked. It was eerily quiet inside the wall. Corpses of men Wyddol had known were strewn about. The husks of horrible abominations were intermingled with them. Wyddol recognized the abominations.
Daughters of Arachne, he thought as he spat in disgust. He tried to suppress it, but a shiver still went up his spine. He was no longer as certain that Haliel and Dargar had his daughter somewhere safe and sound.
Despite the stillness in the grey morning drizzle, Wyddol still snuck from shadow to shadow. At the base of the tower, he found the door reduced to a small pile of cinders.
Did they bring another flamewright? Losing that Jarl of theirs wasn’t enough? He thought to himself. He slipped through the doorway, and down the stairs to the meeting hall.
The horror was not lost on Wyddol. But, he had seen such sights before. Though he would have hated admitting it aloud, he had been partly responsible for similar scenes before becoming a Sojourner.
He avoided looking too closely. Though since his daughter had silver hair like him, the grey hair on more than one corpse caught his attention.
Spideress bites, fire, sword. It must have been chaos. Wyddol could not stop himself. He called out, “Gwyndolyn?”
Off to his right, Wyddol thought he heard something, perhaps a response. He reached up and grabbed one of the everburning stones off the wall. It was mounted onto the end of a torch and was about the same as one except it was fueled by stored Bl
essing and lasted much longer. Wyddol started walking toward where he thought he had heard the response. He called out again.
Again, it seemed that he heard an answering sound or perhaps a voice from someplace far away down one of the many passages that left the room.
“Gwyndolyn, is that you?”
It was definitely a voice coming from one of the doorways, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying.
Wyddol followed it. It was one of the unused barracks passageways. They had been left unoccupied after the first skyship had come and evacuated so many of them. He fought the urge to run to his daughter.
Why would she be down in the barracks?
“Gwyndolyn, are you alright?”
There was no answer this time.
“Are you hurt?”
Too soft to make out clearly, some sort of response came from the darkness beyond the reach of his torch.
Definitely a female voice…
Wyddol shouted clearly, “What was that? Gwyndolyn, speak up, I can’t hear what you’re saying!”
Wyddol rarely came up to this part of the underground complex. It was unfamiliar to him. Though his daughter was here much more often. She knew this place well.
“Gwyndolyn, are you there? How far along this passage are you?”
Wyddol reached a corner and turned it. At the end of a short passage was a spiralling staircase headed down. The walls and steps looked pock marked and almost eaten away. Finally, he could hear the response well enough to make it out.
“I’m down here, my love. I’m at the bottom of the staircase! Oh, but I’m hurt, darling, my ankle is twisted! Please, come quickly…”
Wyddol felt a cold sweat pop out over his whole body as he understood.
Blessings and Trials (Exiles and Sojourners Book 1) Page 14
