by Adam Watson
***
Dray had never been so desperate in his life. The stress of watching the Oracles destruction unleashed a power that went beyond anything the ring had ever offered before. The fireball came down upon the Oracle like a wave of destruction. He knew it was too late, he knew there was no chance of saving her, but a power emanated from inside, cold and electrifying, his body felt like it was ripping itself apart.
He streaked to the Oracle’s side in an instant, his hands held out in front of him and somehow ice surged out creating an icy barrier around them. The flames blasted the barrier, but this was no ordinary ice. This ice came directly from a god; it was colder than an arctic wasteland and harder than steel. The flames swirled around it, turning it into a glistening ball and when they died out - the barrier remained.
Anger consumed Dray like it never had before, pulsating through every fibre of his being. The thought of how close the Oracle came to death made his soul rage. He could see the dragon through the split in its veil; those teeth, that tongue - he wanted it destroyed.
Power surged forth, through his body, making him a conduit of the ether; his body sucked it in, and his hands spewed it out. The barrier grew and grew and grew until finally, it exploded; sending a wave of steel-hard ice shards in all directions - even Goran on the other side of the quadrangle had to dive for cover, lest he be torn to shreds.
DESTROY!! He wanted it gone, he wanted it obliterated, and even as he reached back behind him, the ice sword manifested itself in his hand. There was a great crackling; the air seemed electrified. Ice particles formed as he drew the sword from behind himself. There was a mist, an icy shroud, like the beginnings of a great blizzard.
He drew the sword forward, and the power surged through his soul. He concentrated every focus of his being into the blade, and it began to glow brighter than the sun. An immense white light shot forth; divine ice flew through the air, hissing and cackling. His body shook as the power burned through him - it told him to stop, but his mind wanted that thing dead.
The beam of ice and electricity penetrated the shadow through the split from where the fire had come. The dragon’s mouth froze on contact; its tongue became ice, some of its teeth shattered. The veil was gone, and now it was the beast who struggled for survival.
Dray shot the beam until his body could take no more, he collapsed to the ground. He had hurt the beast, but not enough to kill it. That dark aura manifested around the dragon once more; hiding it in a misty, ever-moving shadow. It left, grievously wounded, but not mortally, leaving a shadowy trail that slowly dissipated behind it.
***
Goran ran across the courtyard to where Dray lay motionless on the ground. The Oracle was already over him, whatever magic that had held her spellbound, had broken when the dragon received its icy blow. She turned him over and gasped.
Dray’s skin was pale and bloodless, his face skeletal, he had lost over half of his bodyweight. Now he looked thin and fragile and twice the age he was. Parts of his body were missing, not big parts like arms and legs, but what appeared to be deep gouges and scrape marks which were pitted and scattered across his entire body - the Oracle had never seen anything like it. She smiled though, he was still alive; through the bond she knew that he was still alive.
“What happened to him? And how did he do that?” The Oracle looked up to see Goran standing above her, he had a look of concern and awe on his face.
“I don’t know,” the Oracle lied. "But we need to get him away from here." Goran nodded, any questions he had could wait until later.
"Help me get him up." The Oracle helped Goran get Dray onto his shoulder; he felt as light as a feather and the feeling disturbed her. She had been against his body before, when she had laid with him in the bed. He was solid then, as hard as rock - now he was unnaturally light.
Footsteps could be heard, they looked down the street. Aseeka was running back to them, she had tears in her eyes and looked very upset.
"I-I'm sorry," she puffed, almost out of breath. "I-I don't know what came over me.”
"It was the dragon's dread," answered Goran. "Don't worry, I've seen veteran soldiers do the same thing on the battlefield when faced with such a fiend." Aseeka nodded, Goran's words made her feel somewhat better, but she didn’t like the fact that she was the only one to run away screaming.
They all turned to begin moving further into the city when something flew past their heads and thudded into the ground - it was an arrow, someone had fired a warning shot.
"YOU FOUR! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" The group turned to the voice. Up atop the nearest wall was a group of twenty soldiers, and they all had their bows aimed at the group. "DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND DO EXACTLY WHAT I SAY!" The group looked at one another.
"We better do what they say." Goran carefully placed Dray down onto the ground and then withdrew his bastard sword and gently laid it down beside Dray’s body.
"They’ll kill us." Aseeka didn't trust the guards at all, and with good reason, her last encounter with them had nearly ended in her death.
"If they wanted to kill us, we'd be dead already." Aseeka looked up, it was true. The soldiers could easily unloose a rain of arrows down upon them, and if they did, there would be no survivors. Aseeka put her bow down but with great hesitation.
"NOW STEP AWAY, AND DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID!" The soldiers lowered a rope ladder and a large wicker basket, then two of them climbed down. They collected all of the weapons and put them in the basket. Another two soldiers up top pulled together on the rope, lifting the weapons to the top of the wall.
"What's wrong with him?" asked one of the soldiers, pointing to Dray.
"He's injured," answered Goran. The group all knew not to say too much about what happened until they knew how the soldiers would react.
"He looks sick, why is he glowing like that?" Goran looked at Aseeka, Aseeka looked at Goran, and neither of them knew what to say.
"He is one of the clerics from the Temple of Tempus," answered the Oracle. "He was hit by a powerful beam from one of the Creed magi. It wounded him, but he will live if we can get him to the healers in Amalicia City."
"How did he make it out of the temple alive?" It was clear the soldier had doubts about the story. If they suspected Dray had some kind of disease, he would not be allowed out of the city.
"I carried him out," answered Goran. “I was visiting him on the day of the attack. This is Dray, my cousin, and I am Goran. The soldier looked at Goran and then looked at Dray, there was a slight resemblance, but the soldier still had his doubts.
"Bring him ... the Commander will decide what we do with him." The Oracle breathed a sigh of relief. If they had decided that Dray couldn’t come with them, this encounter would probably have ended badly for everyone. "For now, you are our prisoners. You will remain silent and do everything we ask. Do that, and no harm will befall you. The Commander will want to question you, after he has, he will decide your fate. My advice is not to anger him, if you can do that, you might find yourselves on your way to Amalicia City on the morrow." Everyone smiled at that thought. Finally, they could be free of this madness.
They calmly followed the soldiers up the ladder and to the top of the wall, Dray had to be hoisted up by a rope. Once they were all up, they followed the soldiers along the parapet and into the nearby tower.
Inside the relief was visible, even Aseeka seemed relieved, and she hated anything military, but for the first time since the attack, she actually felt safe - it was ironic that enclosed stone walls and sword-wielding men is what made her feel that way.
"You lot stay here ... he ..." one of the soldiers said referring to Dray. "... can go on that cot in the corner. I'll get a medic to take a look at him right away."
***
The group waited casually. The room they were in seemed to be some kind of mess hall that had been turned into a makeshift barracks. Soldiers ate around them, some of them sharpened swords, some of them polished armour; most were quiet, but a few talked about w
hat was going on in the city and the patrols they had encountered.
From what Goran could ascertain, it seemed the soldiers had definite control of the walls and towers that connected them. This news pleased Goran, but he suspected that the real reason the soldiers controlled the walls was simply because the Creed had no interest in them. He wondered why that was so. Why did they want the city and not the walls? Everything he knew about war told him it was only a matter of time before the Creed would try to take them. They're not ready yet. It seemed to him that they must be focusing their time and energies on something else - he wondered what that was.
Whilst he was pondering all that, one of the soldiers approached the group.
"The Commander will see you one at a time ... you first,” he said, pointing at Aseeka. Aseeka took a deep breath, she didn't like being the focus of attention, and she certainly didn't want to be the one to go first. She looked to the others uncertain if she should proceed or not.
"Go Aseeka,” encouraged Goran. “Everything will be fine." Aseeka shrugged, she doubted that everything would be fine, but what choice did she really have? She stood up and followed the soldier to the Commander's quarters.
Once inside she was told to sit down, which she did. She was nervous and fidgeted in her chair. She looked at the Commander sitting at his desk in front of her; a battle-hardened, stern looking man, and she knew straight away that she didn't want to get on the wrong side of him. Was she sweating? Her nerves were making the room feel like a furnace. He finished writing and looked up.
"Ah yes ... you're part of that group the soldiers hauled out of the city, aren't you?" Aseeka nodded her assent. She wanted to speak, she wanted to be strong, but she was afraid that if she did, it would come out as a squeak.
The Commander reached into the desk and pulled out what appeared to be some kind of log book. He opened it up to a fresh page and began recording notes. "Please state your full name and age?" Normally when asked this question Aseeka would have given a false name without hesitation, but one look into the Commander's eyes gave her second thoughts. Her palms were sweaty. He'll know if I'm lying. Why did these military types make her so nervous?
"Aseeka Bas'hara and I’m twenty-seven," she answered meekly, and the Commander nodded - he seemed happy with that answer.
“A-seek-a … Bas-hara,” he said sounding the name out as he wrote. “And have you always lived in the city, Aseeka Bas’hara?”
“Y-Yes.” The Commander paused and seemed to think about that answer for a moment before moving on.
“And what was your occupation in the city?” Aseeka could feel her heart racing, three questions in and she was already forced to lie to him.
“I … I was a … flower arranger … for the florist.” The Commander stared deep into her eyes. Aseeka felt like her face was burning. He knows I’m lying, he knows it. What in the Seven Hells possessed her to say flower arranger? Of all the possible professions … that was the first thing that came into her mind?
“A … flower arranger?” The Commander’s tone told her that he didn’t believe her, but she couldn’t change her story now.
“Yes … I used to arrange flowers into various bouquets and displays for Miss Tiddle, the florist.” Why was her mouth so dry and yet the rest of her body felt drenched in sweat?
“I see … flower arranger for Miss Tiddle, the florist.” The Commander jotted the answer down in his log. “Interesting.” Aseeka swallowed hard and wiped her eyes, she really wasn’t cut out for interrogations. At least he doesn’t know what I really did. No, he wouldn’t like that, would he? What she had done in the past would have to remain her little secret. Suddenly the Commander leant forward.
“You know Aseeka … you’re dressed rather strangely for somebody who arranges flowers.” This isn’t happening. She blinked involuntarily trying to buy a few seconds to think of a cover story.
“I … I er …” The Commander continued to stare at her intently. “I hate to admit this Commander, but after the attack, I feared for my life. I … had to take this equipment from the … fallen.” No-one wanted to say they stole from the dead.
“I see.” The Commander looked down to his log and proceeded writing again. Aseeka was unsure whether the Commander believed her or not; she wasn’t even sure she would believe it herself. “Now … tell me what you were doing when the attack started and everything up until this point right now. Leave nothing out.” Aseeka swallowed hard again, just trying to get some moisture into her mouth. What would she say? What would she leave out? What were the consequences if she got caught lying? Just how tough was this Commander anyway? She looked into his eyes again. Really, really tough. He scared her, and all he was doing was writing notes into a log book.
In the end, she decided she couldn’t stray too far from the truth. He was bound to question the others, and if their stories didn’t match, they could all find themselves imprisoned.
She told the Commander about how she was working in the florist when the attack had begun. She told him about colour selection and placement of flowers. She even told him about her love for Miss Tiddle and her ginger cat, Foxy. The Commander jotted every detail down in his log book.
Aseeka was becoming more and more confident with every word. Next, she told the Commander how she was down in the cellar when the Creed stormed the streets and began killing everything in sight. She had taken a peek outside and then rushed back down, hiding behind some boxes and stock in the darkest corner of the cellar. Miss Tiddle had already been slain, Foxy was never seen again. Only the part about hiding in the darkest corner of the cellar resembled the truth. Truth or not, the Commander didn’t question any of it but quietly continued to write every detail down in his book.
The next part of the story was actually true. It was the part about how she met Goran. She had been hiding in a cellar, that much was true, but how she got there was quite a different story - a story she didn’t even like to think about.
She had emerged from that cellar that night, under the cover of darkness. Her whole world was gone. Everyone she cared about killed, every place she ever enjoyed, destroyed. The city she had known was barely recognisable; the poorer parts, the parts from which she came, razed to the ground. It was like the Creed were doing some kind of purification or cleansing of their new city - raze the slums to the ground and then rebuild over the ashes.
She had roamed the streets in a daze; all the buildings had been abandoned, all the people killed. She could hear the war raging around her, in the other parts of the city yet to be conquered.
The place she had called home was a burnt husk, the people who lived there were now blackened corpses. She didn’t know what she was going to do by herself, but she knew she had to get out of the city- she was on her way to the west gate when a voice called out to her.
“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you.” She had jumped, scared out of her wits; when she realised the man didn’t want to kill her, she managed to calm down enough to get her breath back.
“Why not, that’s where the gates are? Don’t you want to leave the city?” The man was armoured in plate and had a huge bastard sword on his back; his beard was orange and had two plaits in it.
“Because the soldiers are killing everyone who approaches them - friend or foe.” Aseeka couldn’t believe it.
“What? Why? Why would they do that?”
“The city’s gone beyond protecting. The dead spread their plague through the survivors, adding to their ranks. Now the army wants containment, and they will kill anything that moves, including you and I.” Aseeka looked at him, and the berserker could almost see the question marks in her eyes. “Do you think I’m standing here amongst the ruins just for the fun of it? If I could get outside the gates, I would be long gone.”
Aseeka couldn’t help but smile, even though this berserker looked like he wanted to rip her head off, she found that she liked him already; he had a sense of humour. She looked around again at the desolation and the charred rem
ains. This man’s huge stature, his power and not to mention his extremely large sword, made her feel safer.
“Do you have any friends … family?” she asked.
“They’re all dead. I only survived because I knew my ancestors were watching me, judging every move I made. I knew I couldn’t give up and carved my way to safety.” Aseeka cast her eyes down to the ground, his story was much more courageous than her own.
“I hid in a cellar, scared out of my mind.” Goran smiled, he knew she was ashamed to admit it to him, being a big warrior type, but he liked her honesty.
“And who can blame you? You did what you had to do to survive. Don’t be ashamed of that. Now you live, instead of rotting in the street.” Aseeka smiled, she even gave a little laugh.
“That’s something I suppose.” Goran laughed too.
“Alive is better than dead, I always say. Listen … what’s your name?”
“Aseeka.”
“I’m Goran. It’s nice to meet someone’s who’s not trying to kill me.”
“Likewise.”
“Listen Aseeka, the West Gate is a no-go zone. We have to try one of the other gates and hope that one of the other Wall Commanders will show some mercy. I don’t know of any other way out.” Aseeka slowly nodded – the plan sounded dangerous, but she didn’t have any better ideas.
And so, they joined forces and not long after that more survivors joined them. As it turned out all the gates were no-go zones, but they were resolute and determined to find a way out of the city - or die trying.
Over the following weeks, the small band had to survive on the streets; plundering food and water from stores and abandoned houses. Every now and then there would be an encounter with one of the Creedic patrols, there would always be casualties on both sides. The survivors would either escape or force the patrols to retreat. People died, but more survivors would be found. They always joined the band, rather than face the city alone.
